UC-NRLF 


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ELIZABETH 
COOPER 

Jl  COMEDY 
SyGEORGE 
MOORE 


r^, 


r- 


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in  2008  with  funding  from 

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ELIZABETH  COOPER 


ELIZABETH  COOPER 

A    COMEDY    IN    THREE    ACTS 

BY  GEORGE  MOORE 


BOSTON  :  JOHN  W.  LUCE  k  CO 
DUBLIN  :  MAUNSEL  k  CO.  LTD 

1913 


Copyright  /pij,  George  Moore 


.  C   C    (     * 


Printed  by 

Ballantyne  &  Company  Ltd 

London 


TTie  first  performance  of  this  play  was  given  at 

the  Hay  market  Theatre,  June  22,  igij^  by  the 

Incorporated  Stage  Society 


PERSONS  IN  THE  PLAY 

MARTIN  Edith  Evans 

SEBASTIAN  DAYNE  Reginald  Owen 

MRS.  DAYNE  Emily  Luck 

LADY  THURLOW  Joy  Chatwyn 

LEWIS  DAVENANT  C.  V.  France 

GODBY  Kenyon  Musgrave 

COUNTESS  VON  HOENSTADT  Miriam  Lewes 

FLETCHER  Charles  Maunsell 

LORD  THURLOW  Val  Cuthbert 

PROFESSOR  DAYNE  Gedge  Twyman 

LADY  KINGSWEIGHT  Noel  Mackern 

MISS  GASMAN  Edith  Cuthbert 

MR.  IRETON  John  R.  Collins 

LADY  BASING  Irene  Ross 

SIR  ROBERT  BASING  Telford  Hughes 

Acts  I  and  III :  Lewis  Davenanfs  House  in  Rockminster 
Act  II :  Lewis  Davenanfs  Country  House 

Time  :  In  the  Sixties 
The  Play  produced  by  Clifford  Brooke 


4010GO 


,        >  >  J  > ,>. 


>  »  ' 


ACT  I 

Scene  :  A  room,  half  drawing-room,  half  study,  in 
Lewis  Davenant's  house  in  Rockminsier.  Furni- 
ture eighteenth  century,  pictures,  china  in  glass 
cases. 

An  April  afternoon  in  i860. 
When  the  curtain  rises  Sebastian  Dayne  is  seated 
at  a  table  writing.     Enter  Martin. 

Martin.  Mrs.  Dayne,  sir. 

Sebastian.  Show  her  in.  {Exit  Martin.  A  moment 
after  Mrs.  Dayne  enters.)  Well,  mother.  [She  looks 
round  for  a  chair.)   Let  me  get  you  a  chair. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  Are  you  busy,  Sebastian  ? 

Sebastian.  Not  very  ;   finishing  a  chapter. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  Then,  perhaps,  you  can  come  to 
tea  with  me  to  Lady  Thurlow's.  I  left  her  with 
your  father  ;  he  was  reading  his  translation  of — 
I  can't  remember  the  name. 

Sebastian.  Theocritus  ? 

Mrs.  Dayne.  Yes,  that's  the  name.  I  couldn't 
listen  to  it  any  longer,  so  came  on  here  to  you.  I 
could  see  they  were  both  very  glad  to  get  rid 
of  me. 

Sebastian.  That's  only  your  fancy,  mother.  But 
tell  me,  mother,  did  Lady  Thurlow  suggest  any 
alternative  readings  ? 

7 


.  . ',   'B.,   ',',,'.''  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

*    €        t      *      '  t       [       t      '        '  ,     f  c<C 

't'      '       *,'    t       \"     '  '       '    f     ,  .        '    ,     ' 

'  "  '  ' '  M!fiS.  DayNe:  Your  father  thinks  very  highly  of 
her  judgment. 

Sebastian.  So  do  I,  but  Theocritus  isn't  her 
subject.  ...  I  don't  know  though,  the  second  idyU. 
But,  mother,  what  a  swell  you  have  come  out  to-day  ! 
Lilac  ribbons  and  a  new  silk  jacket. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  A  pretty  brown,  isn't  it  ?  Where  is 
Lewis  ? 

Sebastian.  In  his  study. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  He  works  very  hard  ;  your  father 
was  saying  to  me  only  yesterday  how  hard  he  works. 

Sebastian.  Much  too  hard  for  his  secretary.  I 
never  get  a  chance  at  my  poems. 

Mrs.  Dayne  (reproachfully).  Sebastian,  you  know 
you  have  every  evening  to  yourself. 

Sebastian.  But  I  want  the  day-time.  This 
glorious  day  !     How  it  inspires  one  ! 

In  green  underwood  and  cover, 
Blossom  by  blossom,  the  spring  begins. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  Is  that  3'our  own  composition, 
Sebastian  ? 

Sebastian.  The  same  old  question.  If  I  write 
anything  beautiful  it  is  "  Did  Mr.  Davenant  help 
you  ?  Or  did  your  father  tell  you  how  it  should 
go  ?  "  I  never  get  credit  for  anything  I  do.  There 
are  the  proofs  of  my  poems  on  that  table,  but  what 
is  the  use  of  pubhshing  them  ?  As  soon  as  it 
becomes  known  that  I  am  Lewds  Davenant 's  secre- 
tary the  papers  \\ill  begin  to  discover  analogies,  and 
our  friends  here  will  soon  pick  up  the  scent  and  will 
go  streaming  after  it.     I  have  learnt  a  lot  from  him, 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  9 

no  doubt,  but  the  time  has  come  to  separate  myself 
from  him  and  from  all  literary  influences.  A  long 
holiday  is  what  I  want. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  But  you  will  have  a  nice  long  holi- 
day  

Sebastian.  You  mean  when  Lewis  goes  to  Ger- 
many to  see  his  play  performed  ?     But  will  he  go  ? 

Mrs.  Dayne.  Of  course. 

Sebastian.  I  am  not  sure  of  that.  Lewis  is  a 
little  world-weary,  and  he  has  seen  so  much  and 
written  so  much  that  he  has  lost  all  taste,  as  he  says, 
for  general  society,  especially  literary  society.  We 
were  talking  the  other  evening  about  this  journey 
to  Vienna,  and  the  impression  he  left  upon  me  was 
of  one  who  would  never  be  able  to  make  up  his  rnind 
to  go.  "  It  isn't,"  he  said,  "  that  I  wouldn't  hke 
to  see  my  play  in  German — I  would,  and  the  acting 
would  interest  me  ;  but  it  is  the  proceedings  that 
follow  the  play  that  I  dread,  the  banquet  and  the 
laurel-leaves.  Germans  have  no  idea  of  art  except 
somebody  crowning  somebody  with  laurel-leaves  ; 
generally  a  big  fat  woman  does  the  crowning.  And 
then  all  the  literati  gathered  about  in  my  honour 
would  make  speeches  about  how  art  reconciles 
nations,  how  the  fact  of  ha\ing  German  taught  in 
schools  will  make  England  love  Germany  better, 
and  how  Germans  by  learning  English  in  their 
schools  will  be  able  to  arrive  at  a  truer  understanding 
of  a  nation,  which,  after  all,  is  the  same  nation,  for 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  Anglo-Saxon  blood  still  in 
England  ;  and  after  half  an  hour  of  this  nonsense," 
Lewis  said,  "  I  shall  have  to  get  up  and  talk  about 


10  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Shakespeare,  saying  that  I  have  not  come  here  to 
speak  in  my  own  name  but  in  the  name  of  EngHsh 
Hterature,  of  which  I  am  an  unworthy  representa- 
tive." 

Mrs.  Dayne.  But  your  dear  father  often  speaks 
hke  that  at  dinner  about  the  study  of  the  Latin 
and  Greek  languages. 

Sebastian.  I  suppose  he  does.  .  .  .  Lewis  was 
very  amusing  the  other  evening,  mother.  "WTiat 
else  did  he  say  ?  Wait  a  moment,  just  let  me  think. 
Oh,  yes.  He  said  that  after  ha\dng  spoken  of 
Shakespeare  he  would  have  to  explain  the  relations 
of  art  to  nature.  Yes,  yes,  that  nature  is  something 
more  and  something  less  than  art,  that  art  is  not 
nature  because  it  is  art,  and  that  nature  is  not  art 
because  it  is  nature,  and  the  stupendous  creation  of 

the  artist  is  no  less  mysterious 

Enter  Martin. 

Martin.  The  gentleman  in  the  dining-room,  sir, 
says  he  will  miss  his  train  back  to  Southampton  if 
he  waits  much  longer,  and  wants  to  know  if  Mr. 
Davenant  can  see  him  now. 

Sebastian.  I  hope  you  told  him  that  Mr.  Dave- 
nant is  composing  ? 

Martin.  Yes,  sir.  He  asked  me  for  the  morning's 
paper 

Sebastian.  And  you  told  him  that  we  never 
read  the  newspapers  here  ?  {Martin  looks  embar- 
rassed.) You  gave  him  the  book  that  we  usually 
give  to  visitors  ? 

Martin.  Yes,  sir. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  What  book  is  that  ? 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  ii 

Sebastian.  "  The  Koran." 

Mrs.  Dayne.  That  is  what  the  Mahommedans 
read. 

Sebastian.  Perhaps  he  has  been  to  Constanti- 
nople. 

Martin.  He  says  he's  a  sailor,  ma'am,  second 
mate  on  board  the  Hannah  Maria. 

Sebastian.  You  see  how  right  I  am,  mother.  A 
man  who  has  come  all  the  way  from  Southampton 
to  see  Lewis  would  like  to  read  something  serious. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  Well,  I  suppose  you  know  best, 
Sebastian. 

Sebastian  {to  Martin).  If  he  rings  again,  tell  him 
that  Mr.  Davenant  will  see  him  presently,  in  about 
ten  minutes. 

Martin.  Yes,  sir.  Exit. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  WTiat  can  a  sailor  want  with 
Mr.  Davenant  ?  Ho  isn't  going  to  buy  a  yacht, 
is  he  ? 

Sebastian.  I  wish  he  were  ;  a  yacht  would  get 
us  out  of  this  dreary  hole.  A  sailor,  more  likely, 
who  has  read  a  description  of  a  place  he  knows  in 
one  of  Lewis's  novels  ;  Lewis  has  made  some  tri\ial 
mistake  which  the  sailor  would  like  him  to  correct. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  Do  you  get  many  \i5it0rs  here  ? 

Sebastian.  Oh,  yes,  we  get  a  tidy  few  :  ladies 
who  want  Lewis  to  write  plays  for  them  ;  ladies 
from  America  who  come  to  interview  him.  The 
last  one  we  had  here  wanted  to  know  his  \iews  on 
the  influence  of  cats  on  domestic  life.  We  get  a 
fair  number  of  translators  from  time  to  time  : 
Swedes,  Norwegians,  Finns,  Servians. 


12  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Mrs.  Dayne.  What  an  interesting  life  you  have 
here,  Sebastian  ! 

Sebastian.  But  people  don't  come  to  see  me. 
Mrs.  Dayne.  I  am  sure  they  are  very  nice  to  you, 

dear. 

Sebastian.  In  order  to  get  something  out  of 
Lewis.  There  is  no  personal  hfe  for  me  in  Rock- 
minster.  That  is  what  I  lack.  I  am  tired  of 
Rockminster ;  nothing  happens  here.  It  is  all 
right  for  Lewis  ;  he  has  had  affairs  with  all  kinds 
of  women — not  here,  in  London  and  Paris.  Ladies 
in  Rockminster  don't  have  love  affairs  except 
perhaps 

Mrs.  Dayne.  I  will  not  hsten  to  scandal,  Sebas- 
tian. 

Sebastian.  Therefore,  every  morning  as  I  sit 
here  I  send  forth  my  soul  bidding  it  seek  out  some 
wonderful  woman  and  give  her  my  name  and  address 
— one  whom  I  have  never  seen  and  never  shall  see — 
and  in  the  evening  I  walk  home  hoping  to  get  a 
letter  from  her.  I  know  there  isn't  one,  but  I  never 
fail  to  say,  "  Jane,  are  there  any  letters  ?  "  Always 
the  same  answer,  "  No,  sir,"  and  I  go  upstairs  to 
my  room  saying,  "  My  soul  has  not  yet  had  time 
to  reach  her." 

Mrs.  Dayne.  My  poor  boy  ! 

Sebastian.  But  something  must  happen.  This 
cannot  go  on  for  ever. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  I  hope  if  anything  happens  it  won't 
be  anything  wrong,  Sebastian.  I  am  afraid  you 
are  a  little  overworked,  a  little  over-strained.  When 
Lewis  goes  to  Vienna,  which  I  trust  he  will,  you 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  13 

must  go  and  stay  with  Lady  Thurlow,  who,  I  am 
sure,  will  be  very  glad  to  have  you. 

Sebastian.  But,  mother,  I  have  stayed  with  Lady 
Thurlow  so  often. 

Enter  Lady  Thurlow, 

Lady  Thurlow.  How  do  you  do,  Sebastian  ? 
He  looks  a  little  tired  ;  don't  you  think  so,  Hen- 
rietta ? — overworked.  Here  every  morning  at  half- 
past  ten,  and  no  sooner  is  dinner  over,  the  Professor 
tells  me,  than  he  goes  to  his  room,  and  I  have  often 
seen  his  lamp  burning  in  his  window  at  midnight 
and  after.  I  see  proofs.  Your  proofs,  Sebastian  ? 
If  you'll  allow  me,  I  will  just  read  your  mother  a 
few  lines  to  show  her  what  I  meant  when  I  said  that 
your  style  was  losing  some  of  its  clarity.  Mr. 
Davenant's  influence,  an  unfortunate  influence. 

Sebastian.  I  beseech  you,  Lady  Thurlow — 
I  beg  of  you  not  to  touch  my  proofs.  I  really 
cannot  have  them  disturbed.  And  Mr.  Davenant's 
manuscripts  are  there.  You  will  oblige  me  by — 
Let  me  get  you  a  chair.  He  gets  her  a  chair. 

Lady  Thurlow.  Thank  you,  Sebastian,  but  I've 
come  to  take  your  mother  to  tea.  Won't  you 
come  with  us  ? 

Sebastian.  I  am  afraid  I  haven't  time.  I  have  got 
some  most  important  work  to  finish,  Lewis's  play. 

Lady  Thurlow.  Ah  yes,  his  play  which  is  going 
to  be  done  in  Vienna. 

Sebastian.  But  there  are  some  letters  .  .  .  and 
post-time  is  not  far  off.  I  will  go  as  far  as  the 
post  ofiice  with  you.  Will  you  wait  while  I  wash 
my  hands  ?  Exit, 


14  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Lady  Thurlow.  You  see  now,  Henrietta,  that 
things  have  come  to  a  crisis. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  A  crisis,  Augusta  ?    What  do  you 

mean  ? 

Lady  Thurlow.  I  must  speak  to  you  about  the 
influence  that  Mr.  Davenant  exercises  around  him. 
If  Sebastian  is  to  write  original  works 

Mrs.  Dayne.  If  Sebastian  is  to  write  original 
works  I  suppose  he'll  write  them. 

Lady  Thurlow.  Then  you  don't  fear  Mr.  Dave- 
nant's  influence  ?  Remember,  Sebastian's  talent 
is  pastoral.  I  was  speaking  just  now  of  his  "  Songs 
of  the  Hillside,"  and  what  atmosphere  does  he 
find  here  for  his  talent  ?  Aubusson  carpets  and  all 
the  frivoHty  of  the  eighteenth  century  which  Mr. 
Davenant  has  collected  round  him.  I  want  to  see 
Sebastian  among  the  hills,  in  the  sohtudes,  on  the 
borders  of  the  forests 

Mrs.  Dayne.  But  you  know  very  well,  Augusta, 
that  it  was  an  unlooked-for  good  fortune  for  Sebas- 
tian to  become  the  secretary  of  a  WTiter  known  all 
over  the  world  .  .  .  and  who  is  also  our  cousin. 
We  have  some  money  but  we  aren't  millionaires, 
and  if  Sebastian  hadn't  failed  in  his  examination  he 
would  now  be  following  the  same  profession  as  his 
father. 

Lady  Thurlow.  Sebastian  a  professor  !  Sebas- 
tian expounding  Greek  grammar  !  How  could  you 
think  of  such  a  thing,  Henrietta  ?  And  so  it  was 
on  account  of  his  failure  to  pass  his  examination 
that  you  allowed  him  to  become  Mr.  Davenant 's 
secretary  ? 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  15 

Mrs.  Dayne.  If  he  is  Lewis's  secretary  it  is 
because  it  pleases  him  and  Lewis  ;  and  I  wish, 
Augusta,  you  would  not  say  those  things  to  Sebas- 
tian about  the  woods  and  forests,  for  he  is  growing 
quite  discontented.  He  was  complaining  before 
you  came  in  about  the  dullness  of  Rockminster,  that 
nothing  happens  here,  and  that  every  day  he  asks 
if  there  are  letters  for  him  ;  he  is  expecting  that 
some  woman  whom  he  has  never  known  will  wxite 
to  him. 

Lady  Thurlow.  What  you  say  doesn't  surprise 
me.  The  other  evening  after  dinner  we  were  sitting 
together  over  the  fire  ;  he  sat  staring  into  it,  and 
when  I  asked  him  of  what  poem  he  was  dreaming 
he  said,  "  I  wasn't  thinking  of  any  poem,  I  was 
thinking  what  a  brilliant  past  Davcnant  has  had." 
He  said  it  in  a  way  that  I  did  not  hke  at  all,  as  if 
he  were  envying  Davenant.  You  see  I  was  right 
from  the  first.  Sebastian  should  never  have  become 
Davenant 's  secretary.  Harm  will  come  of  it .  Mark 
my  words.  Sebastian  appears  in  the  doorway. 

Sebastian.  Arc  you  coming  ? 

Lady  Thurlow.  I  suppose  Mr.  Davenant  is 
still 

Sebastian.  Yes,  he  is  still  composing. 

They  go  out.     Lewis  Davenant  enters  by  another 

door. 

Davenant.  I  heard  voices.  {Going  to  the  window.) 
Lady  Thurlow  ;  I  might  have  guessed  it.  The  blue- 
stocking of  Rockminster.  Among  stockings  there 
is  no  such  wanton  as  the  blue.  The  colour  was 
never  to  my  taste.     Long  ago  I  preferred  white, 


i6  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

and  now  the  colour  of  stockings  interests  me  no 
longer.  Goes  to  the  table.     Enter  Martin. 

Martin.  Will  you  see  Mr.  Godby  now,  sir  ? 

Davenant.  Mr.  Godby  ? 

Martin.  The  gentleman  who  has  been  waiting 
to  see  you  for  the  last  two  hours. 

Davenant.  But  Mr.  Dayne  was  here. 

Martin.  Mr.  Godby  said  he  wouldn't  know  any- 
thing about  the  business  he  has  come  upon.  Shall 
I  show  him  in,  sir  ? 

Davenant.  Yes,  show  him  in.  {Exit  Martin.) 
Godby  ?  I  don't  remember  the  name.  Oh  !  how 
tired  I  am.     What  can  he  want  with  me  ? 

Enter  Martin. 

Martin.  Mr.  Godby,  sir. 

Enter  Godby.      Martin  goes  out.     Davenant  is 

lying  back  in  his  chair  like  one  overcome  with 

fatigue.     He  passes  his  hand  over  his  eyes  and 

advances  a  step  or  two  towards  Godby. 

Davenant.  I  am  sorry  you  have  been  kept 
waiting. 

Godby.  It  don't  matter  since  I  'aven't  to  go 
\\dthout  seeing  you. 

Davenant.  But  I'm  told  you  have  been  waiting 
all  the  afternoon. 

Godby  [handing  Davenant  a  book).  Secretary 
sent  me  this  'ere  book  to  read.     Thank  'ee. 

Davenant  [taking  the  book).  The  Koran  ! 

Godby.  I  asked  parlourmaid  for  the  paper,  but 
she  said  you  didn't  read  papers  and  that  your 
visitors  always  read  that  book.  [Handing  Davenant 
a  box  of  Turkish  Delight.)     A  httle  present  from 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  17 

Priscilla,  sir  ;  she  wouldn't  leave  go  of  me  till  I 
promised  to  give  it  to  you. 

Davexant.  a  box  of  Turkish  Dehght  ! 

GoDBY.  From  Priscilla,  my  \yiie  three  weeks  come 
Tuesday.  So  no  more  letters  and  pomes — that's 
what  I've  come  to  tell  3'ou. 

Davenant.  Letters  !     Poems  ! 

GoDBY.  We've  'ad  enough  of  that  kind  of  trash, 
and  if  Priscilla  'ad  kno\\'n  what  you  be  hke  you'd 
'ave  'ad  them  all  back. 

Davenant.  Wliat  I  am  like  ! 

GoDBY.  Her  notion  of  the  author  of — of  "  EHza- 
beth  Cooper  " — (0  Lord,  if  she  seed  you  now  !  Ha  ! 
ha  !  ha  !) — was  a  young  feUow  all  scarfs  and  riding 
breeches.  Bless  you  'eart,  I  saw  through  yer  when 
she  read  out  the  number  of  books  you'd  \mtten. 
I  says  to  'er,  "  Priscilla,  it  ain't  possible.  He  be  a 
man  past  fifty."  That's  ten  years  older  than  myself, 
and  when  I  tell  you  that  she  thinks  me  an  old  'un, 
you  can  judge  for  yourself  what  she'd  think  of  you  ! 
Now  let's  get  a  good  look  at  yer.  All  I  told  Priscilla 
is  true  :  a  man  about  fifty  or  fifty-two,  the  hair 
growing  thin  on  the  top  and  grey  about  the  ears 
and  in  the  whiskers,  getting  a  bit  bluff  in  the  bows 
and  broad  in  the  beam. 

Davenant  (laughing).  I  think  you  are  a  sailor, 
Mr.  Godby. 

GoDBY.  Second  mate  aboard  the  brigantine  the 
Haymah  Maria,  at  your  service.  AU  the  same, 
I  must  tell  you  that  I  think  a  man  of  your  age  could 
employ  his  time  better  than  by  sending  letters  and 
pomes  to  a  girl  like  Priscilla. 

B 


i8  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Davenant.  Mr.  Godby,  I  know  nothing  of  what 
you  are  talking  about,  absolutely  nothing. 

Godby.  Well,  if  you  don't  know  'er  as  Priscilla 
Godby,  maybe  you'd  know  'er  as  Priscilla  Jones. 

Davenant.  I  don't  remember  ever  ha\ing  heard 
either  of  these  names  before. 

Godby.  You  won't  deny  your  'and\\Titing  and 
your  signature  at  the  end  of  the  letter.  {He  fumbles 
in  his  pockets.)     I  don't  seem  to  'ave  them  about  me. 

Davenant.  Never  mind,  Mr.  Godby.  I  think 
you  told  me  that  Mrs.  Godby  admired  my  \\Titing  ? 

Godby.  Ah,  now  we're  beginning  to  understand 
each  other. 

Davenant.  But  the  letters  and  poems  you  spoke 
of  must  have  come  from  my  secretary. 

Godby.  Secretary  ! 

Davenant.  He  answers  my  letters  to  correspon- 
dents who  are  not  personally  known  to  me. 

Godby.  Now  do  'e  now  ?  So  all  'em  letters  and 
pomes  aren't  yours  but  secretary's  ? 

Davenant.  That  is  the  only  explanation  I  can 
think  of.  But  allow  me.  [He  rings.  Enter  Martin.) 
Martin,  will  you  ask  Mr.  Dayne  to  come  here  for  a 
moment.  (Exit  Martin.)  I  assure  you  I  don't 
remember.  Priscilla  Jones  ?  No,  I  don't  remember 
anyone  of  that  name.  But  what  is  the  matter, 
Mr.  Godby  ? 

Godby.  I'm  thinking  'ow  Priscilla  is  going  to 
take  this  'ere  news.  \\Tiat  a  squall  !  She'll  be 
took  aback  all  standing.  It  might  'ave  been  well 
to  do  a  bit  of  teasing  of  her,  about  your  age,  telling 
'er  that  you  was  grey  hke  an  old  Tom  in  the  whiskers; 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  19 

but  no,  I  can't  bring  myself  for  to  tell  'er  that  all 
these  letters  which  she  'as  been  a-treasuring  up 
'aven't  been  written  by  you  but  by  secretary. 

D AVE N ANT.  But  why  tell  her  ? 

GoDBY.  If  one  of  these  days  ye  was  to  run  across 
each  other  ? 

Davenant  {aside).  Sebastian,  really,  really  this  is 
too  bad  of  you.  (To  Godhy.)  Perhaps,  after  all 
it  would  be  better  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it. 

GoDBY.  But  if  she  won't  give  ear  to  me  ? 

Davenant.  Now  do  you  tell  her  that  I  am  not 
only  the  ugly  fellow  which  you  have  so  admirably 
summarized  in  three  or  four  telHng  touches,  but 
an  old  curmudgeon  who  received  you  very  uncivilly 
and  told  you  that  his  house  was  filled  with  letters 
from  all  kinds  of  women,  and  that  he  would  be  only 
too  glad  to  get  rid  of  Mrs.  Godby's,  and  handed  you 
back  the  packet. 

GoDBY.  A  very  good  idea,  Mr.  Davenant.  And 
now  I  see  plain  what  a  clever  man  you  be. 

Enter  Sebastian. 

Davenant.  Mr.  Godby  has  come  for  his  wife's 
letters. 

Sebastian.  Mr.  Godby  ? 

Davenant.  Priscilla  Jones  that  was. 

Sebastian.  Ah  !    Priscilla  Jones  ! 

Davenant.  Now,  Sebastian,  it  appears  that  you 
have  been  carrying  on  a  correspondence  with  Miss 
Priscilla  Jones,  and  that  you  sent  her  poems,  and 
all  in  my  name.     Really,  Sebastian,  really  ! 

Sebastian.  But  I  told  you  that  Priscilla  Jones 
had  written  to  you  about 


20  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Davenant.  About  "  Elizabeth  Cooper  "  ?  Very 
likely.  ...  I  am  tired  of  hearing  about  that  book. 

Sebastian.  Don't  you  remember  telling  me  to 
answer  her  ? 

Davenant.  It  is  very  likely  I  did  tell  you  to 
answer  her  letter,  but  I  didn't  tell  you  to  continue 
the  correspondence. 

GoDBY.  And  the  pomes.     He  sent  her  pomes. 

Sebastian.  And  the  poems  are  what  you  fear, 
Mr.  Godby  ?     How  long  have  you  been  married  ? 

GoDBY.  Three  weeks  come  Tuesday. 

Sebastian.  Your  fears  of  poems  will  pass  away 
with  time.  This  innocent  correspondence,  which 
afforded  IMiss  Jones  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  while 
it  lasted,  ended  the  moment  she  told  me  she  had 
decided  to  become  Mrs.  Godby. 

Godby.  That's  quite  right,  that's  quite  right. 

Davenant.  WeU,  Mr.  Godby,  suppose  we  let 
bygones  be  bygones  ?  [Turning  towards  Sebastian.) 
Will  you  give  Mr.  Godby  his  wife's  letters  ? 

Sebastian  [to  Godby).  For  some  time  past  I  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  collecting  the  letters  which 
Mr.  Davenant  has  received  from  ladies  with  hterary 
tastes.  [Crosses  and  returns  with  a  casket.)  All  the 
aristocracies  of  France,  Germany,  and  Russia  are 
represented  in  this  casket.  [Opening  the  casket.) 
Here  are  tw^enty-eight  from  the  Duchesse  de 
Mafrigneuse,  twenty-three  from  Madame  de  Nucin- 
gen,  tW'O  hundred  and  three  from  Madame  Marneffe — 
quite  a  length}^  correspondence  extending  over  many 
years  ;  three  from  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan,  fifteen 
from  the  Marquise  de  Chauheu,  eleven  from  Madame 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  21 

d'Espard  ;  and  the  casket  itself  was  given  to  him 
by  the  dehcious  Madame  du  Val  Noble,  who  contri- 
butes as  many  as 

GoDBY.  You  pay  out  your  jaw  tackle  and  all  them 
fine  names  come  mighty  easy,  young  man,  but  I 
don't  'appen  to  'ear  the  name  of  Priscilla  Jones 
among  them.  Now,  if  you'd  be  just  good  enough  to 
see  if  you  can  find  Mrs.  G.'s  letters  at  the  bottom  of 
that  'ere  casket. 

Sebastian.  Priscilla 's  letters,  Mr.  Godby  !  Pris- 
cilla's  letters  in  this  casket  !  We  have  several  boxes 
downstairs.  It  would  take  days  to  look  through 
the  collection. 

Davenant.  And  while  he  is  looking  out  your 
wife's  letters  you  will  be  missing  your  train.  Leave 
your  address,  and  we'll  look  out  Mrs.  Godby 's  letters 
and  send  them  to  you. 

Godby.  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  was  told  not  to 
come  back  without  them.  (Looking  at  the  clock.) 
Why,  lor'  !  it's  five  o'clock  !  The  time  I've  been 
here  !  As  yer  says,  I  shall  miss  the  train,  so  if 
you'll  be  so  kind 

Davenant.  You  shall  have  your  letters,  Mri 
Godby,  without  fail.  He  rings  the  hell. 

Godby.  Thank  ye,  thank  ye.  (Enter  Martini.) 
And  I  'ave  the  'onour  to  wish  you  good  even', 
Mr.  Davenant,  and  thank  ye.  If  you  ever  wants 
anything  in  the  farin'  Hue,  such  as  a  parrot  or  what 
not,  at  yer  ser\dce.  Exit  with  Martini. 

Sebastian  (still  before  the  casket ;  he  has  taken  out 
another  packet  of  letters,  which  he  shows  to  Davenant). 
And  these,  the  letters  of  the  Countess  Von  Hoenstadt . 


22  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Davenant.  Cease  that  fooling,  Sebastian,  and 
shut  the  casket. 

Sebastian.  But  why,  Lewis  ?  Something  tells 
me  that  she  is  different  from  the  rest. 

Davenant.  The  Countess  Von  Hoenstadt  ?  She 
certainly  helped  to  get  the  translation  of  "  EHzabcth 
Cooper "  accepted  in  Germany  ;  she  has  given 
herself  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 

Sebastian.  Don't  think  about  your  play,  think 
about  Gabrielle.  I  assure  you  she  is  worth  thinking 
about. 
Davenant.  You  don't  even  know  who  she  is. 
Sebastian.  Oh,  but  I  do.  She  has  told  you  all 
about  herself  in  her  letters  :  a  Society  woman,  the 
widow  of  a  count  in  Vienna.  She  has  told  you  her 
age,  a  thing  which  the  others  rarely  do,  twenty- 
seven  ;  we  will  put  her  down  at  twenty-eight, 
perhaps  twenty-nine,  which  isn't  old  age,  and  I 
suppose  she  has  had  some  love  affairs  ;  anyhow, 
she  knows  how  to  write  love-letters. 

Davenant.  Yes,  an  original  and  an  ardent  soul, 
whatever  else  she  may  be. 

Sebastian.  Listen  to  this.  {He  reads.)  "  I  am 
tired  of  the  rain  and  of  myself,  and  of  everything 
except  you.  I  have  never  heard  your  voice,  I 
won't  see  or  hear  you,  for  it  would  be  a  catastrophe 
to  fall  in  love  with  the  man  in  you  ;  I  will  only  be 
in  love  with  the  author."  And  you  won't  go  to 
Vienna  to  meet  the  woman  who  can  write  such  a 
charming  letter  as  this  ? 
Davenant.  I  don't  say  I  won't  go. 
Sebastian.  No,  you  don't  say  you  won't  go  ; 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  23 

you  drift,  you  vacillate.  If  one  is  to  live  and  enjoy 
life  one  must  be  whole-hearted.  It  would  be  a 
wonderful  thing  to  meet  a  woman  that  one  must 
risk  everything  for.  Do  you  never  wish,  Lewis,  to 
risk  the  cliff's  edge  ? 

Davenant.  Just  fancy  my  careering  over  Europe 
in  search  of  a  love  affair  !  Going  to  meet  a  woman 
I  have  never  seen,  determined  to  love  her.  You 
don't  expect  me  really  to  go  to  Vienna  to  meet 
Gabrielle.  Not  a  bad  name,  Gabrielle  Von  Hoen- 
stadt.  Even  when  I  was  your  age,  Sebastian,  I  was 
not  quite  so  reckless. 

Sebastian.  If  that  is  your  attitude,  perhaps  you 
had  better  not  go,  but  if  you  weren't  you  !  Oh, 
what  a  dehcious  adventure,  what  an  extraordinary 
romance  !  To  go  to  Vienna,  to  travel  a  thousand 
miles  for  a  woman,  for  an  idea.  It  would  be  like 
the  Greeks  crossing  the  sea  for  Helen  of  Troy. 

Davenant.  I  can  see  nothing  in  it,  at  least  for 
me,  but  a  journey  full  of  nervous  fear,  apprehen- 
sion, disappointment — a  disastrous  journey. 

Sebastian.  Disastrous  ! 

Davenant.  A  long  nervous  journey  full  of  dis- 
quiet, full  of  uncertainty.  What  will  she  think  of 
me  ?  \\^at  will  she  say  ?  I  am  alone  in  an  hotel 
with  nothing  to  think  of  except  the  clothes  I  shall 
wear.  It  is  difficult  to  make  a  selection.  Shall  I 
wear  a  pair  of  check  trousers,  or  shall  I  Wear  the 
striped  ?  Shall  I  wear  a  frock-coat  or  a  morning- 
coat  ?  A  jacket  would  be  a  trifle  undignified,  a 
frock-coat  would  be  a  httle  too  formal.  Perhaps  a 
morning-coat  would  be  the  right  thing.     A  morning- 


24  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

coat,  check  trousers — no  striped.  A  fancy  waist- 
coat ?  No,  better  not.  What  necktie  ?  Mauve  ? 
Purple  ?  A  black  necktie  ?  Then  the  boots.  Most 
important.  A  woman  always  looks  at  your  feet. 
At  every  moment  my  nervousness  increases.  Think 
of  me  listening  for  the  step  in  the  corridor  of  the 
hotel.  Twenty  disappointments  !  And  then,  at 
last,  the  door  opens  ;  she  comes  in.  I  look  at  her, 
she  looks  at  me,  and  I  read  what  is  passing  in  her 
mind.  I  see  that  she  is  disappointed,  that  I  am 
not  at  all  the  man  she  expected  to  meet.  But  we 
are  on  the  stage  and  have  to  play  the  comedy  out 
to  the  end,  so  we  propose  a  visit  to  the  picture  gallery. 
I  see  that  I  am  not  at  all  the  man  she  wants,  but  I 
must  not  show  that  she  is  not  the  woman  I  want. 
So  I  take  her  hand  in  the  carriage,  she  withdraws 
it ;  and  then  we  attempt  some  friendship,  and  after 
two  days  of  torture  I  escape  from  Vienna  leaving 
a  letter  containing  some  absurd  excuse  that  I  am 
called  away  suddenly  on  a  matter  of  important 
business.  That  is  the  first  possibility.  You  will 
not  deny  that  what  I've  said  is  very  possibly  what 
might  happen. 

Sebastian.  Of  course,  it  is  always  possible  to 
look  at  things  from  a  disagreeable  side  ;  but 
Gabrielle,  on  the  contrary,  might  like  you  very 
much — ^in  fact,  I  am  sure  she  would  .  .  .  for  a 
while. 

Davenant.  I  might  Hke  her  as  a  friend,  but  she 
might  fail  to  inspire  in  me  that  exaltation  of  spirit 
of  sense,  which  it  is  the  ambition  and  the  destiny 
of  woman  to  inspire.     That  is  the  second  possibility. 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  25 

Sebastian.  But  there  is  a  third  possibility — ^you 
might  both  love  each  other. 

Davenant.  Yes,  there  is  that,  and  that  would  be 
the  most  disagreeable  of  the  three.  We  might  even 
fall  in  love  mth  each  other  at  first  sight,  or  at  the 
end  of  an  hour  and  a  half's  inter\iew.  Then  there 
would  be  the  sitting  in  the  box  at  the  theatre, 
gazing  at  each  other,  and  the  dinners  and  drives 
when  the  fever  called  love 

Sebastian.  The  greatest  joy  on  earth. 

Davenant.  In  different  circumstances,  yes  ;  but 
how  could  this  love-story  end  ?  At  the  end  of  the 
week  I  might  say  :  "  Come  to  Paris  ;  let  us  travel." 

Sebastian.  That  is  exactly  how  I  imagine  it. 

Davenant.  Or  I  might  ask  her  to  marry  me  and 
come  and  settle  down  here  ;  she  would  probably 
refuse. 

Sebastian.  She  certainly  would  not  like  Rock- 
minster. 

Davenant.  Then  I  should  have  to  bid  her  good- 
bye at  the  end  of  the  week  in  Vienna  "  Dear 
Gabriclle,  we  have  passed  a  charming  week  together  ; 
I  shall  be  passing  this  way  again  in  a  year  or  two 
on  my  way  to  Athens.  I  hope  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you." 

Sebastian.  If  you  were  to  go  to  Vienna  I  am 
sure  that  something  quite  unexpected  would  happen, 
something  quite  different. 

Davenant.  You  are  twenty-five,  I  am  fifty.  Do 
you  think  it  would  be  wise  for  me  to  begin  all  over 
again  a  life  which  is  finished  and  well  finished  ? 
Love  adventures  are  things  that  no  man  would  be 


26  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

without,  not  for  all  the  world  ;  but  to  continue 
after  fifty,  if  one  can  continue,  would  be  to  rob 
life  of  variety.  Whereas  by  a  little  act  of  renun- 
ciation one  creates  a  new  life,  quite  different  from 
the  old. 

Sebastian.  A  sort  of  epicurean  asceticism. 

Davenant.  That  is  it.  A  life  in  which  the 
pleasures  of  others  not  only  throw  no  shadow  on 
us  but  uplift  the  heart.  It  is  an  adventure  more 
suitable  to  your  age  and  your  appearance. 

Sebastian.  Will  you  send  me  to  Vienna  ? 

Davenant.  Why  not  ?  To  look  after  my  play, 
and  perad venture  to  see  GabrieUe. 

Sebastian.  But  of  what  use  ?  She  is  in  love 
with  your  books,  she  is  in  love  with  your  fame,  she 
is  in  love  with  you  because  you  are  celebrated. 

Davenant.  I  daresay  there  is  a  little  of  that  in 
it  ;  but  once  in  love  with  you,  she  will  be  satisfied 
with  you  and  your  charming  book  of  poems  which 
will  be  published  in  a  few  weeks. 

Sebastian.  Le^vis,  I  will  confess  the  truth  to  you  ; 
I  have  always  been  in  love  with  her,  I  have  never 
dared  to  say  so  before.  Do  you  think  she  will  be 
disappointed  in  me  ? 

Davenant.  If  she  doesn't  love  you,  somebody 
else  will.  In  Vienna  you  are  sure  to  be  a  success. 
Now,  let  me  see.  This  is  the  third,  no,  the  fourth 
of  April.  I  wdll  give  you  a  month's  holiday — five 
weeks  if  you  like.  For  you,  Sebastian,  life  and  its 
pleasures  ;  for  me  the  peace  of  Claremont  Villa, 
long  days  spent  in  my  garden,  and  in  the  evenings 
I  will  smoke  my  pipe  with  my  old  friend  Ruskin — 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  27 

a  fair  di\ision.     You  will  return  enchanted  in  a 
month,  and  we'll  begin  work  again. 

Sebastian.  What  a  delicious  adventure  !     \Miat 
a  delicious  adventure  ! 

Davenaxt  (more  and  more  amused).  Bravo,  Sebas- 
tian, bravo  !  It  would  not  be  like  you  to  refuse. 
I  will  give  you  some  money.  {He  sits  at  the  desk. 
Sebastian  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  stage  lost  in 
thought.)  Here  is  a  note  of  credit  on  my  banker. 
The  journe}^  is  an  expensive  one  but  it  is  really 
necessary  .  .  .  but  one  moment,  Sebastian.  You 
will  have  to  travel  in  my  name. 
Sebastian.  Wliy  ? 

Davenant.  Because  you  said  just  now  that  it 
was  fame  she  was  after.  Go  in  my  name  and  unite 
the  two  temptations,  youth  and  fame.  You  will  be 
irresistible. 

Sebastian.  Introduce  myself  to  Gabrielle  as  the 
author  of  "  Ehzabcth  Cooper  "  ! 

Davenant.  Why  not,  since  I  give  you  leave  ? 
She  would  hardly  love  you  if  you  went  to  her  as 
my  secretary. 
Sebastian.  But  I  am  a  poet. 

Davenant.  A  very  charming  poet,  but 

Sebastian.  Forego  myself  !  Present  myself  as 
the  author  of  all  the  books  and  plays  you  have 
written  !     I  couldn't  do  it,  Le\vis. 

Davenant.  Think  of  what  you'll  lose.  An 
unique  opportunity.  If  3'ou  aren't  tempted,  all 
I  can  say  is  that  your  generation  is  different 
from  mine. 

Enter  Martin.     She  has  a  packet  in  her  hand. 


28  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Martin.  This  packet  has  just  come,  sir. 

She  hands  him  the  packet  and  goes  out.  Davenant 

opens  it. 

Davenant.  Do  you  know  what  is  in  this  packet  ? 
A  miniature.  Gabrielle  has  sent  her  portrait  and  a 
letter. 

Sebastian.  Let  me  see  it,  let  me  see  it. 

Davenant  hands  him  the  miniature  and  Sebastian 

stands  gazing  delightedly  at  it.     Davenant  reads 

the  letter. 

Davenant.  Only  a  short  letter.  She  tells  me 
what  trains  I  am  to  travel  by  and — listen,  Sebastian. 
(Reads.)  "  I  won't  wait  much  longer.  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  run  after  you,  but  I  very  soon  will  be 
ashamed  of  thinking  so  much  of  a  man  withouteven 
kno\\dng  if  he  deserves  it.  It  makes  me  feel  what 
I  don't  want  to  be — a  little  fool."  You  see,  Sebas- 
tian, there  is  no  time  to  be  lost. 

Sebastian.  She  is  dehcious,  delicious  and  di\ine  ! 

Davenant.  So  you're  going  ? 

Sebastian.  I  am  going,  come  what  may. 

Davenant.  You  had  better  start  immediately. 

Sebastian.  No  time  shall  be  lost.  Good-bye. 
Can  I  take  the  miniature  ? 

Davenant.  Yes,  here  it  is.  And  you'll  not  forget 
altogether  about  my  play,  will  you  ?  You'll  write 
to  me  at  once  and  attend  all  the  rehearsals  ? 

Sebastian.  Yes,  yes.     Good-bye,  Lewis. 

He  goes  out.     Davenant  looks  at  one  of  his  pic- 
tures, then  opens  the  window  and  rings  the  bell. 

Enter  Martin. 

Davenant.  If  j^ou  look  through  the  telescope  in 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  29 

the  library  you  will  see  Jupiter  superbly.     Then 
you  can  bring  in  the  lamp. 

Martin.  Yes,  sir. 

She  goes  out.     Davenant  remains  at  the  window 

smoking  as  the  curtain  falls. 


ACT  II 

Scene  :  Davenanfs  country  house.  A  room  opening 
out  on  a  large  garden.  Light  summer  furniture. 
A  river  is  seen  in  the  distance.  The  sun  is 
shining. 

A  771071th  later  ;  about  two  in  the  after7ioon. 
When    the    curtain   rises    Davenant    and    Lady 
Thurlow  are  walking  to  and  fro  in  the  garden. 
Davenant  carries  a  pruning-shears  in  his  hand 
a7id  is  busy  cutting  roses. 

Lady  Thurlow.  My  dear  friend,  you  see  my 
hands  are  full  ;   I  beg  of  you  not  to  cut  any  more. 

Davenant.  Just  one  more.       He  cuts  another  rose. 

Lady  Thurlow.  WTiat  a  beautiful  rose  !  Purple, 
almost  black.  And  now  I  \\ill  bid  you  good-bye. 
I  have  already  taken  up  more  than  an  hour  of  your 
valuable  time.     I  must  run  away. 

Davenant.  No,  no.  Come  in  and  rest  for  a 
moment.     You're  tired.     Come  and  sit  down. 

He  points  to  a  sofa  and  sits  beside  her. 

Lady  Thurlow.  Before  going  back  to  Rock- 
minster  I  want  to  pay  a  Httle  \isit  to  your  neighbour 
Ruskin.  You've  no  idea  how  impatient  I  am  to 
read  his  "  Stones  of  Venice."  He  has  been  working 
upon  it  so  long. 

Davenant.  Ah,  he  is  a  past-master. 

30 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  31 

Lady  Thurlow.  But  you,  my  dear  friend,  you 
haven't  told  me  what  you're  doing. 

Davenant.  Very  httle. 

Lady  Thurlow.  You  miss  Sebastian  ? 

Davenant.  Indeed  I  do.  I  hope  he  will  soon 
come  back. 

Lady  Thurlow.  When  do  you  expect  him  ? 

Davenant.  I  can't  say  exactly,  probably  in  a 
day  or  two.  I  showed  you  the  letter  he  wrote  me 
from  Vienna  after  the  performance  of  "  Ehzabeth 
Cooper." 

Lady  Thurlow.  No  doubt  you  are  very  pleased 
to  know  that  your  play  was  such  a  success. 

Davenant.  It  is  always  agreeable  to  hear  that 
one  has  pleased  somebody' . 

Lady  Thurlow.  And  since  that  letter  you  haven't 
heard  from  him  ? 

Davenant.  No,  and  I  don't  expect  to  ;  he  is 
busy  seeing  all  there  is  to  see.  I  told  him  not  to 
hurry.  I  assure  you  there  is  no  cause  for  anxiety. 
If  any  accident  had  happened  to  him,  if  he  had  been 
killed  in  a  duel,  or  if  he  had  been  shipwrecked 

Lady  Thurlow.  There  are  other  accidents  besides 
duels  and  shipwrecks.  If  he  were  to  get  entangled 
in  an  intrigue  with  some  actress  at  the  theatre  .  .  . 
and  in  a  strange  country  ? 

Davenant.  I  gave  him  a  letter  of  introduction, 
and  it  should  open  some  doors  of  Viennese  society 
to  him. 

Lady  Thurlow.  Without  for  a  moment  thinking 
that  Viennese  Society  might  prove  even  more 
dangerous  than  theatrical. 


32  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Davenant.  a  young  man  must  sow  his  wild  oats 

somewhere. 

Lady  Thurlow.  And  it  was  to  sow  them  that 
you  sent  him  to  Vienna  ? 

Davenant.  I  sent  liim  to  Vienna  to  look  after 

my  play. 

Lady  Thurlow.  Never  thinking  that  some  Vien- 
nese actress 

Davenant.  If  one  were  to  think  of  all  the  traps 
into  which  a  young  man  may  tumble,  there  would  be 
no  time  to  think  of  anything  else. 

Lady  Thurlow  (rising).  I  thought  perhaps  you 
might  have  had  news  through  one  of  your  friends. 

Davenant.  The  moment  I  have  I  will  let  you 
know.     Must  you  go  ? 

Lady  Thurlow.  I  really  must.     Good-bye - 

Davenant.  Till  this  evening.  Don't  forget  your 
promise  to  dine  with  me  in  Rockminster.  You 
will  meet  some  pleasant  people,  I  think. 

Lady  Thurlow.  One  never  meets  anybody  else 
in  your  house.     I  shan't  forget. 

Exit  by  garden.     Davenant  goes  out  with  her  and 

comes  hack  a  moment  after.     He  walks  about  the 

stage  in  silence. 

Davenant.  What  the  devil  am  I  to  do  with  this 
irresponsible  youth  Sebastian  ?  Why  didn't  he 
write  more  exphcitly  ?  He  looks  forward  to 
telHng  me  his  adventures.  ...  All  the  same, 
it  is  a  month  since  he  left. 

Enter  Martin  with  a  letter. 

Martin.  Fletcher  has  just  brought  this  letter,  sir. 
It  came  yesterday  to  Rockminster,  and  knowing 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  33 

that  you  weren't  returning  till  this  evening,  he 
thought  it  better  to  bring  it  here. 

Davenant.  He  did  quite  right.  (Takes  the  letter.) 
Wait  a  moment.  Sebastian's  handwriting.  [He 
reads.)  This  is  too  much  !  Really  this  is  too  much. 
(After  a  -pause  he  bursts  out  laughing.)  What  a 
splendid  impertinence  !  He  even  wants  to  turn  me 
out  of  my  own  house.  (Reading  by  fragments.)  "  My 
dear  cousin,  my  dear  Lewis,  you  are  so  good,  so 
kind.  Lend  me  Claremont  Villa  .  .  .  only  for  two 
days  .  .  .  and  as  I  am  still  Lewis  Davenant,  will 
you  oblige  me  by  becoming  Sebastian  Dayne  ?  We 
shall  arrive—"  WE  !  "We  shall  arrive  to- 
morrow." To-morrow.  When  did  3'ou  say,  Martin, 
this  letter  came  ? 

Martin.  Last  night,  sir. 

Davenant.  Then  it's  to-day.  He  may  be  here 
.  .  .  they  may  be  here  at  any  moment.  As  this 
joke  began  with  mc,  I  had  better  see  it  through. 
(To  Martin.)  Now,  Martin,  hsten  to  me  atten- 
tively.    I  can  count  upon  you,  I  think. 

Martin.  It  wasn't  yesterday  I  entered  your 
service,  sir,  and  you  know 

Davenant.  Yes,  I  know.  But  to-day,  Martin, 
it  isn't  on  my  account,  alas  !  We  must  make  way 
for  the  young  folk.  Now,  this  is  what  you  are  to 
do.  Mr.  Dayne  may  arrive  at  any  moment — and 
with  a  lady  ...  I  don't  think  I  told  you  he  is 
travelling  in  my  name.  Now,  when  he  comes  you 
are  to  call  him  Mr.  Davenant.  Do  you  understand  ? 
(Martin  begins  to  laugh.)  It  would  take  too  long  to 
explain.     You  are  to  stay  here  to  look  after  them. 

c 


34  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

And  while  they  are  here  you  are  to  speak  to  Mr. 
Dayne  as  Mr.  Davenant.  I  think  I  can  rely  on 
you.  Mr.  Dayne  will  not  stay  longer  than  two 
days. 

Martin.  And  you,  sir  ? 

Davenant.  I  must  get  back  to  Rockniinster. 
What  time  is  the  next  train  ? 

Martin.  The  train  from  Rockminster  has  just 
come  in  and  the  train  back  has  just  gone  out. 

Davenant.  Then  they  may  be  on  their  way  from 
the  station. 

Martin.  And  if  that  is  the  case,  sir  ? 

Davenant.  Then,  Martin,  I  am  Mr.  Sebastian 
Dayne. 

Martin.  Very  well,  sir  ;  111  try  to  remember. 

Exit. 

Davenant.  If  I  were  to  walk  to  Rockminster  .  .  . 
only  four  miles.  No,  I  am  not  going  to  walk  four 
miles  in  the  broiling  sun  for  Sebastian's  sake.  I 
dare  say  they  haven't  come  by  that  train.  [Going 
to  the  window.)  Yes,  here  they  are  !  Sebastian 
and  a  pretty  woman,  as  far  as  one  can  judge.  I 
wish  she  would  raise  her  parasol  a  little  more.  But 
I  must  fly  if  I  wouldn't  meet  them  on  the  staircase 
or  in  the  street.  Now  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Can 
it  be  Gabrielle  ?     It  can't  be. 

Enter  Sebastian  and  the  Countess  Von  Hoenstadt. 

Countess  [speaking  with  a  German  accent).  What 
a  lovely  country  !  And  the  delicious  river,  I  love 
it  !  And  all  this  beautiful  garden,  this  exquisite 
little  cottage.     It's  all  dehghtful. 

Sebastian.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  pleased  with  the 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  35 

place,  Gabrielle.  Most  of  my  childhood  was  passed 
here  ;  I  am  very  fond  of  it.  And  to  come  back 
here  with  you  is  a  most  extraordinary  happiness. 

Countess.  I  love  it  all.  And  you,  Lewis,  I  love 
you  ! 

Enter  Martin  :    she  relieves  the  Countess  of  her 

travelling  cloak. 

Sebastian  (going  towards  Davenant).  My  dear 
Sebastian  .  .  .  how  are  you  ?  Gabrielle,  allow  me 
to  introduce  you  to  my  cousin,  Sebastian  Dayne, 
also  my  secretary. 

Countess.  Lewis  has  spoken  a  great  deal  about 
you,  Mr.  Dayne. 

Davenant  [howing).  Have  you  had  a  pleasant 
journey  ? 

Sebastian.  Very.  We  left  all  our  luggage  at 
Rockminster  and  came  on  here  with  just  enough 
for  two  days.  [To  Gabrielle.)  Dearest,  I  am  sure 
you  would  like  to  go  to  your  room.  (To  Martin.) 
What  room  have  you  ready  for — for — madam  ? 

Martin  (hesitatingly).  The  room 

Davenant.  The  room  overlooking  the  river.  I 
thought 

Sebastian.  That  will  do  splendidly,  that  will  do 
splendidly. 

Martin.  If  madam  will  come  with  me. 

Gabrielle.  I  will  leave  you  with  your  secretary 
for  a  little  while.  (In  a  low  tone.)  Dearest,  I  love 
you.  Exeunt  Martin  and  Gabrielle. 

Sebastian  (after  following  Gabrielle  a  few  steps, 
returns  rapidly  to  Davenant).  You  are  good,  Lewis. 
(He  takes  both  his  hands.)  I  don't  know  how  to  thank 


36  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

you.     I  hope  we  haven't  put  you  out  too  much  ? 
Only  a  couple  of  days.  ^ 

Davenant  (in  very  good  humour).  Not  at  all, 
Sebastian  ;  stay  as  long  as  you  please.  I  am 
dehghted  to  see  you,  but  must  apologize  for  being 
here  when  you  arrived.  Your  letter  did  not  reach 
me  until  ten  minutes  ago,  and  I  was  just  about  to 
run  away,  having  given  Martin  some  instructions, 
when  you  arrived.  But  we  have  no  time  to  lose. 
Tell  me,  and  tell  me  quickly,  is  that  Gabrielle  ? 

Sebastian.  Didn't  you  know  her  ?  She  is  very 
like  her  miniature. 

He  takes  the  miniature  from  his  pocket  and  sits. 

Davenant.  I  hardly  saw  her,  and  in  a  hat.  My 
dear  Sebastian,  you  have  managed  this  affair  splen- 
didly. Now,  admit,  wasn't  it  a  good  idea  of  mine 
to  send  you  to  Vienna  ?  You  appear  very  much 
in  love  \vith  each  other.  One  could  see  that  from 
the  way  she  turned  to  look  at  you  as  she  went  out. 
It  is  all  dehghtful,  dehghtful  !  I  congratulate  you, 
Sebastian.  Show  me  the  miniature.  Yes,  it  is 
very  hke  her.  And  now  tell  me  everything  in  a 
few  words. 

Sebastian.  It  would  take  too  long. 

Davenant.  We  have  five  minutes. 

Sebastian.  You  want  to  know  how  we  met  ? 

Davenant.  Certainly. 

Sebastian.  Well,  in  the  most  original  way  .  .  . 
in  the  train. 

Davenant  [more  and  more  amused).  No  ! 

Sebastian.  I  got  into  the  train  at  Ostend  ;  and 
within  an  hour's  journey  of  Vienna,  at  a  station 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  37 

called — I  can't  remember  the  name,  three  ladies 
and  a  gentleman  got  into  my  carriage. 

Davenant.  One  was  Gabrielle  ? 

Sebastian.  At  first  I  didn't  recognize  her,  but 
it  was  she.  She  was  returning  to  Vienna  to  meet 
me. 

Davenant.  To  meet  Lewis  Davenant. 

Sebastian.  To    meet    Le\\is    Davenant    and   to 

meet  me. 

Davenant.  To  meet  Le\vis  Davenant,  since  it 
was  me  she  expected,  but  to  meet  you  since  it  is 
you  she  loves.     But  I  beg  your  pardon.     Go  on. 

Sebastian.  Well,  three  ladies  and  a  gentleman 
entered  my  compartment.  The  gentleman  had 
white  hair,  very  distinguished-looking.  He  is  an 
old  friend  of  her  family's  ;  Baron  Von  Allmen  is 
his  name.  The  two  ladies,  the  Countess  Bertha 
Von  Maureg  and  the  Baronne  Studcnberg. 

Davenant.  I  see  you  already  possess  some  know- 
ledge of  Viennese  Society.  I  suppose  you  met 
these  people  afterwards  ? 

Sebastian.  Yes. 

Davenant.  Well,  go  on. 

Sebastian.  I  helped  them  into  their  seats.  She 
thanked  me  in  German,  and  seeing  I  was  Enghsh 
she  smiled.  Then  I  looked  at  her  more  attentively, 
asking  myself  where  I  had  seen  her  before,  and  not 
being  able  to  remember.  All  of  a  sudden,  at  the 
end  of  ten  minutes,  an  idea  came  to  me  .  .  .  but 
I  said  to  myself,"  I  must  be  mad  !  "  Every  moment 
the  train  was  bringing  us  nearer  Vienna  ;  the  Baron 
was  explaining  to  the  two  ladies  things  I  couldn't 


38  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

understand,  and  I  caught  her  stealing  glances  in  my 
direction  when  she  thought  I  wasn't  looking. 

Davenant.  Magnetic  influence  ! 

Sebastian.  And  all  the  time  I  kept  asking  myself, 
"Is  it  Gabrielle  ?  "  You  can  imagine  my  feelings. 
Then  I  had  an  inspiration.  Very  quietly  taking  her 
miniature  out  of  the  pocket  of  my  coat,  I  compared 
it  with  her.  She  was  watching  me  and  immediately 
she  understood. 

Davenant.  Dehghtful  ! 

Sebastian.  I  saw  her  blushing,  and  all  of  a 
sudden,  with  an  exquisite  spontaneity  and  that 
delicious  accent  which  you  have  heard,  she  said, 
"  You  are  Lewis  Davenant  !  "  What  answer  could 
I  make  ? 

Davenant.  You  were  fairly  caught. 

Sebastian.  I  assure  you,  Lewis,  that  during  the 
journey  I  had  thought  it  all  out,  and  had  decided 
to  present  myself  to  her  in  my  own  name  .  .  . 
yes,  come  what  might. 

Davenant.  But  you  hadn't  time.  You  were 
taken  by  surprise,  and  in  a  moment  it  was  too 
late. 

Sebastian.  Before  I  had  time  to  answer  she 
introduced  me  to  her  friends — to  the  distinguished- 
looking  Baron  Von  Allmen,  the  beautiful  Countess 
Von  Maureg,  and  the  \'ivacious  Baronne  Studenberg. 
"  Mr.  Lewis  Davenant,  who  has  come  to  Vienna  for 
the  performance  of  '  Elizabeth  Cooper.'  " 

Davenant  {laughing).  Destiny  is  stronger  than 
we,  Sebastian.  I  see  the  hand  of  destiny  in  that 
meeting  in  the  train.     But  you  seem  very  subdued. 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  39 

Sebastian.  Do  I  ? 

Davenant.  a  certain  greyness  in  the  eyes  and 
about  the  mouth  which  I  find  difficult  to  associate 
with  the  hero  of  so  charming  an  adventure. 

Sebastian.  Five  enchanted  weeks  ! 

Davenant.  I  suppose  3'ou  saw  her  every  day  ? 

Sebastian.  Of  course.  And  when  we  didn't 
spend  the  evening  alone  we  went  into  Society.  She 
introduced  me  to  all  her  friends. 

Davenant.  And  you  charmed  them  all.  They 
invited  you  to  their  houses,  routs,  balls,  and 
dinners. 

Sebastian.  They  were  enchanted  weeks  ! 

Davenant.  But  I  suppose  sometimes  you  remem- 
bered my  play  ? 

Sebastian.  Of  course.  I  wrote  you  a  long  letter 
about  it.  Gabrielle  always  came  with  me  to 
rehearsals. 

Davenant.  Tell  me  something  about  my  play 
.  .  .  about  your  play. 

Sebastian.  Isn't  it  very  difficult  for  an  author 
to  speak  about  his  own  work  ? 

Davenant.  Well,  tell  me  what  Sebastian  Dayne 
would  have  thought  of  the  play. 

Sebastian.  What  Sebastian  Dayne  would  have 
thought  of  my  play.  That  is  just  what  I  was  going 
to  ask  3'OU.  On  the  first  evening  of  the  performance 
when  I  was  called  before  the  curtain 

Davenant.  You  were  called  before  the  curtain  ? 

Sebastian.  Yes  ;  and  I  made  a  speech. 

Davenant.  And  you  told  them  that  you  had 
come  to  speak  to  them  in  the  name  of  England  ? 


40  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Sebastian.  Not  on  that  occasion,  but  next  day 
at  the  banquet 

Davenant.  There  was  a  banquet  ? 

Sebastian.  A  magnificent  one. 

Davenant.  Your  health  was  drunk  in  cham- 
pagne ? 

Sebastian.  Of  course. 

Davenant.  And  you  were  crowned  with  laurels  ? 

Sebastian.  A  crown  of  gilt  laurels. 

Davenant.  Which  you  wore  as  an  actor  wears 
his  crown  ? 

Sebastian.  An  actor  lays  aside  his  crown  at 
midnight. 

Davenant.  But  yours  was  never  from  your  brow. 
All  night  long  you  wore  it,  and  you  were  still  the 
author  of  "  Elizabeth  Cooper  "  when  the  morning 
dawned. 

Sebastian  (smiling).  I  don't  complain. 

Davenant.  But  tell  me,  Sebastian.  ...  I  sup- 
pose now  and  then  you  must  have  had  some  un- 
pleasant moments  ?  Every  rose  has  its  thorn. 
You  must  have  said  to  yourself  that  the  day  would 
have  to  come  when  you  must  tell  her.  However, 
I  suppose  the  proper  time  hasn't  yet  arrived. 

Sebastian.  I  keep  putting  it  off. 

Davenant.  I  understand  .  .  .  You  went  several 
times  to  her  determined  to  tell  her  everything,  but 
before  you  had  time  to  open  your  hps  she  took  your 
face  in  her  hands  murmuring,  "  I  love  you,  dearest." 
\\^at  did  she  wear  ?  Rose  ?  How  could  you  dis- 
appoint Gabrielle  in  rose  !  Another  time  she  wore 
a  mauve  scarf  over  her  shoulders.     I  understand. 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  41 

What  resolutions  would  not  vanish  at  the  sight  of  a 
mauve  scarf  wound  about  two  white  arms  ! 

Sebastian.  But  you  have  not  seen  her  arms. 

Davenant.  Arms  soon  to  be  withdrawn,  my 
poor  Sebastian,  arms  which  have  been  for  the  last 
month  wound  about  you.  I  hope  you  have  grown 
a  little  weary  of  those  arms  ?  No  ?  Not  yet  ?  So 
serious  as  that  ?     (Sits  by  him.) 

Sebastian.  Yes,  Lewis.  Every  day  I  am  more 
and  more  in  love  with  her.  And  all  the  time  the 
fatal  day  is  approaching  when  I  must  tell  her. 

Davenant.  She  loves  you  for  yourself  ? 

Sebastian.  I  think  so. 

Davenant.  But  you  have  some  misgivings. 

Sebastian.  I  dread  the  unpleasant  quarter  of  an 
hour. 

Davenant.  If  you  get  off  with  only  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  you'll  be  lucky.  Such  happiness  as  yours 
is  paid  for  more  dearly.  And  now  I  must  ask  you 
what  excuse  you  are  going  to  give  her  for  not 
telling  her  sooner  ? 

Sebastian.  There  is  no  use  thinking  out  what 
one  is  going  to  say.  The  stress  of  the  moment  puts 
the  right  words  into  one's  mouth. 

Davenant.  But  when  will  that  moment  come  ? 
The  sooner  the  better.  You  surely  don't  intend 
putting  it  off  till  she  is  seated  in  the  train  on  her 
way  back  to  Vienna,  and  when  you  hear  the  whistle 
put  your  head  into  the  carriage-window  saying, 
"  I  am  not  Lewis  Davenant." 

Sebastian.  I  know  I  must  tell  her  sooner  or  later. 
But  we're  not  going  to  part  like  that. 


42  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Davenant.  You  will  have  to  part  this  week  or 
the  next,  I  suppose  .  .  .  unless  ...  do  you  intend 
to  marry  her  ? 

Sebastian.  We  are  married. 

Davenant  iip  to  this  point  has  been  very  amused. 

He  immediately  becomes  serious. 

Davenant.  Married  !  You  have  married  her  ? 
And  you  have  married  her  in  the  name  of  Lewis 
Davenant  ?  {Rises.)  My  dear  Sebastian,  this  is  a 
piece  of  folly 

Sebastian.  We  won't  discuss  that  point.  One's 
follies  are  too  personal  to  discuss. 

Davenant.  You  have  married  her  in  my  name. 
You  mean  that  you  went  through  some  ceremony 
of  marriage  ? 

Sebastian.  No,  the  marriage  was  all  right .  There 
was  a  church,  and  a  priest,  and  a  book  where  we 
signed  our  names  .  .  .  but  Tm  not  very  w^ell  up 
in  the  marriage  laws. 

Davenant.  Well,  my  good  friend,  you  will  soon 
have  an  excellent  occasion  to  learn  them. 

Sebastian.  It  would  be  better  if  you  let  me  tell 
you  how  it  all  happened. 

Davenant.  The  one  thing  that  concerns  me  is 
that  you  have  married  her  in  my  name  .  .  .  and 
I  am  not  a  marr}dng  man. 

Sebastian.  Try  for  a  moment  to  imagine  what 
my  situation  was. 

Davenant.  I  am  trying  to  think  what  could  have 
made  you  do  such  a  ridiculous  thing,  but  I  can't 
arrive  at  any  conclusion. 

Sebastian.  If  you'll  let  me  tell  you.     You'll  only 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  43 

lose  time  guessing.  You  didn't  reproach  me  when 
I  told  you  that  in  the  train  I  allowed  Gabrielle  to 
introduce  me  to  her  friends  as  the  author  of  "  Ehza- 
beth  Cooper." 

Davenant.  In  the  train  you  were  taken  by 
surprise,  but  you  weren't  taken  by  surprise  the 
morning  you  were  married.  You  knew  you  were 
going  to  be  married. 

Sebastian.  I  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  I  was  going 
to  be  married. 

Davenant.  Were  you  married  under  the  influence 
of  a  drug,  or  in  your  sleep  ? 

Sebastian.  I  tell  you  that  an  hour  before  my 
marriage  I  hadn't  the  least  idea  I  was  going  to  be 
married. 

Davenant.  You  speak  as  if  you  had  been  caught 
in  a  shower  of  rain. 

Sebastian.  It  was  exactly  like  that.  We  went 
for  an  excursion  to  an  island  in  the  Danube,  a 
long  narrow  island  with  a  village  running  down  the 
middle.  A  church  appeared,  and  as  we  stopped  to 
admire  it  Gabrielle  said,  "  How  would  ^'ou  like  to 
come  into  that  church  and  be  married  to  me  ?  " 

Davenant.  And  weren't  you  able  to  answer  her  ? 

Sebastian.  No,  I  remained  silent. 

Davenant.  And  then  she  insisted  ? 

Sebastian.  No,  she  didn't  say  anything  more. 

Davenant.  And  then  ? 

Sebastian.  Then  she  went  into  the  church. 

Davenant.  With  you  ? 

Sebastian.  With  me.  We  found  an  old  priest 
asleep  in  a  chair. 


44  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Davenant.  And  then  ? 

Sebastian.  She  asked  him  to  marry  us. 

Davenant.  And  you  never  said  a  word  ?  Is 
that  how  people  usually  marry  in  Vienna  ? 

Sebastian.  Sometimes. 

Davenant.  Well,  my  dear  friend,  in  England 
these  marriages  very  often  end  in  the  Law 
Courts. 

Sebastian.  A  man  should  always  be  willing  to 
suffer  for  the  woman  he  loves.     I  am  ready. 

Davenant.  To  go  to  prison,  to  cut  your  throat  ? 
If  I  had  gone  to  Vienna  this  wouldn't  have  hap- 
pened. 

Sebastian.  Because  she  wouldn't  have  loved 
you. 

Davenant.  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that  ;  after  all,  she 
did  write  those  letters  to  me.  But  you  must  tell  her 
who  you  are,  and  the  sooner  the  better. 

Sebastian.  You  think,  then,  that  the  moment 
she  comes  downstairs  I  should  introduce  her  to  the 
real  Lewis  Davenant. 

Davenant.  Why  not  ? 

Sebastian.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  explain  to 
her  ? 

Davenant.  Oh,  no,  my  good  friend.  Tell  her 
yourself,  when  you  are  alone  with  her.  I  did  wrong 
to  advise  you  to  go  to  Vienna  and  introduce  your- 
self to  her  in  my  name  .  .  .  but  I  didn't  tell  you 
to  marry  her  in  my  name.  Now,  I  am  leaving  in 
half  an  hour.  You  will  have  her  all  to  yourself. 
You  couldn't  find  a  better  place  for  the  explana- 
tion— a  beautiful  house  in  the  midst  of  a  lovely 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  45 

garden  facing  a  river  ;  everything  is  in  your  favour. 
Ssh  !    here  she  is. 

Enter  Gahrielle.     Her  hair  is  pinned  up  in  front 

hut  falls  over  her  shoulders. 

Gabrielle.  You  will  excuse  me,  ^Ir.  Dayne,  for 
I  did  not  know  you  were  here  and  came  to  ask  my 
husband  to  make  my  hair.  I  am  si  maladroite  I 
am  not  able  to  make  my  hair  alone,  and  darling, 
your  parlourmaid  is  not  used  to  attending  on 
ladies. 

Sebastian.  She  has  broken  the  comb  I  gave  you. 

Gabrielle.  The  comb  that  3'Ou  bought  for  me 
at  Strasbourg.  I  am  sorry.  {Sebastian  arranges 
her  hair.)  Is  it  unlucky  in  England,  Mr.  Dayne, 
to  break  a  comb  when  you  first  enter  a  strange 
house  ?  I  hope  not.  (Gets  up  and  goes  to  the  mirror, 
and  then  comes  hack  to  Sebastian.)  Make  it  a  little 
higher,  dear. 

Sebastian.  Sebastian,  have  you  ever  seen  more 
beautiful  hair  ?  Soft  as  silk,  the  colour  of  honey, 
and  smelling  as  sweetly. 

Countess.  Thank  you,  dear.  [Goes  to  the  mirror 
again.)  If  Martin  had  been  able  to  make  my  hair 
as  well  as  you,  I  should  have  begun  to  suspect  that 
mine  were  not  the  first  little  she-feet  {looking  at  the 
carpet)  to  tread  these  roses  underfoot.  Do  you 
say  "  she-feet  "  in  Enghsh  ? 

Davenant.  We  don't  specify  the  sex  ;  merely 
feet.  He  moves  towards  the  door. 

Gabrielle.  No,  you  must  not  go,  Mr.  Dayne. 
There  are  a  great  many  things  I  should  like  to  ask 
you  about.     Are  you  not  my  cousin  now  ? 


46  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Davenant.  So  I  am  ;  and  your  secretary  if  you 
should  ever  require  one. 

Gabrielle.  I  will  dictate  to  you  in  German  ;  I 
am  sure  you  know  German,  Mr.  Dayne  ;  and  it  will 
improve  your  German  to  gossip  with  me.  Is  gossip 
right  ?     How  do  you  say  gossip  in  English  ? 

Davenant.  We  say  gossip. 

Gabrielle.  Just  as  I  have  said  ?  I  should  like 
to  gossip  with  you.  Will  you  take  a  chair,  Mr. 
Dayne,  and  gossip  in  English  with  me  ?  Now  do 
stay  and  tell  me 

Davenant.  What  would  you  have  me  tell  you  ? 

Gabrielle.  Of  the  advice  you  gave  to  Lewis 
that  he  must  be  beware  of  Viennese  ladies,  for  I  am 
sure  you  told  hiin  that  in  all  those  hours  that  you 
spent  together. 

Davenant.  When  your  miniature  arrived 

Gabrielle.  Lewis  says  that  the  miniature  does 
me  no  justice  whatever,  and  he  is  right.  I  always 
look  dreadful  and  affectee  or  swollen  and  greedy  on 
photographs.  I  do  not  look  so  toothachish  in 
reality,  do  I,  Mr.  Dayne  ?  But  I  am  not  going  to 
ask  you  for  compliments  ;  I  know  you  could  not 
do  else  than  tell  me  that  I  am  very  pretty,  but  that 
is  not  what  I  want  to  hear.  I  should  like  you  to 
tell  me  if  the  lady  in  the  ivory  is  a  woman  who 
would  deceive  her  lover  and  what  terrible  revenge 
she  would  wreck  on  him  if  he  were  to  deceive  her. 
You  don't  know  ;  how  could  you  be  expected  to 
know  ?  You  see,  Mr.  Dayne,  I  am  a  little  stupid 
sometimes,  but  I  hke  me  to  be  like  that.  Pay  not 
attention  to  me  but  just  go  on  thinking  of  what  is 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  47 

in  3'our  head.  Your  head  is  full  of  Lewis's  books, 
is  it  not  ?  It  must  be  since  you  are  his  secretary. 
We  were  talking  about  my  miniature,  and  I  was 
about  to  teU  you  that  it  was  painted  when  I  was 
li\ing  with  my  husband.  He  carried  me  off  from 
the  convent  to  a  castle  in  the  forest  where  I  never 
saw  anyone  but  an  old  nurse  and  les  chasseurs,  men 
that  came  to  hunt  the  wild  boar  and  the  deer.  It 
was  very  tedious  but  very  romantic,  like  j'our 
Shakespeare.  I  used  to  sit  at  my  casement  thinking 
that  it  was  a  play  of  his  and  m3'5elf  Desdemona  ; 
but  she  loved  her  black  man  and  I  did  not  love 
my  hunter,  who  never  knew  a  day's  illness  until  he 
died.  That  was  what  his  great  friend  that  shot 
him  used  to  say,  "  Rudolph  never  knew  a  day's 
illness  till  he  died."  It  was  an  accident,  and  I  \vill 
tell  you  how  it  happened  one  of  these  days,  when 
I  am  rested,  for  it  is  a  very  long  story. 

Sebastian.  Darling,  let  me  persuade  you  to  go 
to  your  room  and  lie  down  for  a  little  while. 

Gabrielle.  I  am  not  tired,  but  I  cannot  tell 
the  accident  that  my  husband  met  with  while 
hunting  in  the  forest.  It  sounds  too  much  hke 
William  Rufus,  and  I  want  to  talk  about  "  Elizabeth 
Cooper."  After  my  husband's  death  in  the  forest 
I  went  to  live  in  Vienna,  and  seeing  the  same  people 
day  after  day  began  to  tire  me  almost  as  much  as 
the  deer  and  the  boars  in  the  forest.  It  was  impos- 
sible for  me  to  see  them  any  more,  and  so  I  said 
to  myself,  "  I  will  make  some  new^  acquaintance," 
and  went  to  the  hbrary  and  began  to  pick  out 
English  heroes  from  Tauchnitz'  edition.     I  found 


48  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Douglas,  Richard  Feverel,  later  on  Chandos,  and 
a  thousand  niore,  and  one  day  the  librarian  handed 
me  ''  EHzabeth  Cooper."  The  name  struck  my 
imagination  ;  it  is  such  a  wonderful  name,  so 
romantic,  so — I  can't  say  all  I  want  to  say  in  English. 
Ach  !  it  is  so  tiresome.     Elizabeth  Cooper  is  so 

Davenant.  So  evocative. 

Gabrielle.  So  evocative  of  Shakespeare  and 
English  glens.  [To  Sebastian.)  Why  did  3'ou  not 
give  me  the  word  I  want  ?  Thank  you,  Mr.  Dayne. 
If  Lewds  had  written  a  book  for  Austrian  countesses 
especially,  he  could  not  have  succeeded  better.  For 
weeks  I  wanted  to  write  to  him,  but  somehow  I 
didn't  care,  and  when  his  first  letter  arrived  my 
hands  turned  as  cold  as  ice  and  my  cheeks  burning 
hot.  Is  it  not  a  funny  thing  to  have  cold  hands  and 
a  hot  face  at  the  same  time  ?  A  moment  after  I 
made  gambols  and  pinched  my  dog  because  I  was 
so  happy.  Tell  me,  Mr.  Dayne,  was  Le\^is  really 
a  little  pleased  when  I  first  \\Tote  to  him  ?  Did  he 
tell  you  his  first  idea  about  me  ?  I  shall  never 
forget  what  great  impression  his  first  letter  made 
on  me.  I  got  it  November  7,  on  a  Saturday. 
Nearly  every  year  something  happens  to  me  on 
November  7.     It  is  a  dangerous  day  for  me. 

Davenant.  The  Countess  speaks  exactly  as  she 
writes. 

Gabrielle.  So  Lewis  has  shown  you  my  letters. 
No,  don't  trouble  to  excuse  yourself,  Lewis  ;  I 
don't  mind  in  the  least  your  ha\ing  shown  my 
letters  to  Mr.  Dayne — ^in  fact,  I  knew  3'ou'd  done  so. 

Sebastian.  How  did  you  know  that  ? 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  49 

Gabrielle.  Well,  my  darling,  didn't  you  tell  me 
so  one  day  ? 

Davenant.  If  I  may  dare  to  put  a  question 

Gabrielle.  Do  put  questions  to  me  and  I  will 
answer  them  truthfully. 

Davenant.  Were  your  imaginations  fulfilled  ? 

Gabrielle.  I  did  not  imagine  so  young  a  man. 

Davenant.  And  if  he  had  been  an  older  man  ? 

Gabrielle.  I  think  I  should  have  forgiven  him 
his  age  for  the  sake  of  Elizabeth. 

Davenant.  Is  "  Ehzabeth  Cooper  "  the  only  book 
by  Mr.  Davenant  that  you  have  read  ? 

Gabrielle.  The  only  one  ;  I  glanced  through 
the  others  at  the  library,  and  the  husband  in  one 
story — I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  it — seemed  to 
me  to  be  a  darling.  He  took  his  wife  upon  his  knee. 
Other  authors'  husbands  are  not  doing  such  sweet, 
natural  things.  They  arc  either  beasts  or  poseurs 
or  hypocrites.  Oh  !  I  have  no  patience  with  them. 
I  wish  I  could  throw  something  to  their  heads  ! 
But  I  did  not  buy  any  more  of  Lewis's  books.  I 
grew  afraid  they  might  have  disappointed  me,  and 
I  don't  like  to  be  disappointed,  Mr.  Dayne.  It 
gives  me  nerves.  When  you  know  me  better  you 
will  understand  how  bitterly  I  resent  being  dis- 
appointed. But  I  know  "  Ehzabeth  Cooper  "  so 
well,  every  scene  in  it,  and  I  should  have  visited  all 
the  places  he  has  described,  only  there  were  reasons 
that  kept  me  in  Vienna.  The  man  who  shot  my 
husband  was  said  to  be  in  love  with  me,  which  was 
not  true,  and  my  family — but  there  is  no  necessity 
for  going  into  that  story  now ;   another  time,  Mr* 

D 


50  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Dayne.  I  want  now  to  talk  to  you  about  Elizabeth 
Cooper.  It  was  she  who  gave  me  my  liberty  from 
Vienna,  and  so  I  said  to  my  husband,  "  We  must 
visit  all  the  towns  where  she  and  her  lover  stayed 
at  on  our  wedding  journey  ;  we  shall  follow  her 
wanderings  "  ;  and  so  we  went  down  the  Rhine. 

Sebastian.  Castle  and  crag,  crag  and  castle. 

Gabrielle.  On  to  Maintz,  to  Cologne,  Bonn. 
It  required  all  my  persuasion  to  get  Lewis  to  Paris. 
At  last  he  consented,  but  on  condition  that  he  was 
to  pretend  he  had  never  been  there  and  that  I  was 
to  show  it  to  him. 

Davenant.  a  most  ingenious  idea.  I  hope  you 
took  him  to  Fontainebleau  ? 

Gabrielle.  Yes,  and  read  him  liis  description 
of  the  forest  in  the  forest. 

Davenant.  How  charming  that  must  have  been  ! 

Gabrielle.  How  he  loves  France  ! 

Davenant.  Yes,  yes. 

Gabrielle.  He  says  that  whoever  seems  a  little 
more  distinguished  than  another  has  been  to  France. 

Sebastian.  Quite  true  ;  we  go  there  Hke  rag- 
pickers, with  baskets  on  our  backs  and  crooked 
sticks  in  our  hands. 

Davenant.  France  is  the  van-bird  and  European 
countries  the  flock  that  struggles  after. 

Gabrielle.  Li\4ng  together,  you  two  have  caught 
each  other's  accents  and  modes  of  thought. 

Davenant.  I  sometimes  think  we  have,  only  in 
me  the  note  is  fainter.  And  having  visited  Paris, 
you  came  on  here. 

Gabrielle.  Yes,  to  the  country  that  Lewis  has 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  51 

described  ;  to-morrow  we  shall  \isit  the  hill-top 
where  EHzabeth  used  to  sit  looking  into  the  languid 
distances. 

Davenant.  I  see  ;  that  is  why  you  came  to  Rock- 
minster. 

Gabrielle.  How  quick  you  are,  Mr.  Dayne  ! 
Lewis,  how  luck>'  you  are  to  have  a  secretary  like 
Mr.  Dayne  ! 

Sebastian.  I  agree  with  you,  Gabrielle,  very 
lucky  ;  but  I  must  ask  Martin  to  get  some  tea.  It 
must  be  nearly  four  o'clock. 

Davenant.  He  brought  you  to  Claremont  Villa 
instead  of  taking  you  to  Rockminster  because  he 
wanted  to  show  you  the  room  in  which  "  EHzabeth 
Cooper  "  was  written. 

Gabrielle.  Is  this  really  the  room  in  which 
you  wrote  "  EHzabeth  Cooper,"  darhng  ?  \Miy 
didn't  you  tell  me  the  moment  we  came  in.  There 
is  the  table  at  which  you  \\Tote,  the  chair  on  which 
you  sat,  the  inkstand  into  which  you  dipped  your 
pen.  And  your  manuscripts  ?  \\Tiere  do  you  keep 
your  manuscripts  ?     I  want  to  see  them. 

She  goes  to  the  table,  pulls  out  the  drawers,  and 

takes  out  a  heap  of  papers. 

Sebastian.  My  dear,  you  mustn't  upset  those 
papers. 

Gabrielle.  WTiy  shouldn't  I  see  the  manuscript 
of  "  EHzabeth  Cooper  ?  " 

Sebastian.  What  good  ?  You  have  read  the 
book. 

Gabrielle.  But  I  want  to  see  the  manuscript  of 
the  book  that  made  me  love  you.     Mr.  Dayne,  do 


52  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

look,  will  you  ?  Try  to  find  me  the  manuscript  of 
*'  Elizabeth  Cooper." 

Sebastian.  We  have  no  manuscript  here, 
Gabrielle,  I  assure  you. 

Gabrielle.  Then  I  will  look  at  your  books.  {She 
gets  up  on  a  ladder  that  is  standing  beside  the  book- 
case.) There  is  the  three-volume  edition  and  the 
six-shilling  edition  and  the  two-shilling  picture 
board,  and  there  —  why,  there  is  V edition  de 
luxe.  I  had  no  idea  you  had  written  so  many 
books.  Darhng,  how  old  were  you  when  you  began 
to  write  ? 

Sebastian.  I  think  I  was  about  sixteen. 

Gabrielle.  And  you  are  now  five-and-twenty. 

Sebastian.  I  shall  soon  be  seven-and-twenty. 

Gabrielle.  And  in  ten  years  you  have  written 
seventeen  books  !  How  very  extraordinary  !  Now 
which  of  these  is  your  first  book  ? 

Sebastian.  My  first  book  was  a  volume  of  poems. 

Gabrielle.  I  am  disappointed  ;  I  cannot  tell 
you,  Lewis,  how  disappointed  I  am. 

Davenant.  The  Countess  hoped  to  inspire  a  great 
literature,  and  finds  that  literature  already  written. 

Gabrielle.  I  had  no  idea  my  husband's  works 
were  so  voluminous — seventeen  volumes  before 

Davenant.  He  is  seven-and-twenty,  and  will  not 
stop  at  seventeen  volumes. 

Gabrielle.  Do  you  think  I  shall  be  able  to 
inspire  him,  Mr.  Dayne,  to  write  more  books  ?  I 
want  him  to  write  something  that  no  author  has  yet 
quite  done  to  my  satisfaction — a  story  about  a 
married  couple,  but  a  long,  beautiful,  might-be-true 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  53 

story.  Is  might -be -true  a  real  word,  Mr.  Dayne  ? 
Well,  you  and  Lewis  must  try  not  to  be  envious 
when  I  invent  a  new  word.  You  see,  I  don't  want 
the  husband  to  be  a  saint,  nor  the  wife  to  be  an 
angel ;  I  just  want  them  to  be  man  and  wife,  to 
quarrel  as  well  as  to  kiss,  to  have  temptations  both. 
But  the  end  must  be  a  happy  one,  Lewis  ;  I  don't 
want  the  Kreutzer  Sonata  over  again.  And  on 
some  children  I  must  insist. 

Davenant.  How  many  ? 

Gabrielle.  I  don't  know  how  many — perhaps 
none  at  all  when  the  story  comes  to  be  written.  You 
see,  I  am  always  changing  my  moods  and  opinions, 
Mr.  Dayne.  It  is  amusing  and  fatiguing  too  ;  it  is 
like  changing  one's  dress  a  dozen  times  a  day.  But 
must  you  really  leave  us  ?  Lewis,  shall  we  go  to 
the  station  with  Mr.  Dayne  ? 

Sebastian.  If  you  want  to,  dear. 

Gabrielle  [coming  down  the  steps).  Well,  let  us 
get  our  hats.  We  shall  not  be  a  moment,  Mr. 
Dayne. 

Exeunt.     Davenant  replaces  the   books,   and   a 

moment  after  enter  Lady  Thurlow. 

Lady  Thurlow.  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Davenant,  for 
intruding  once  more,  but  is  it  true  what  I  hear,  that 
Sebastian  has  returned  ?  My  coachman  tells  me 
that  he  saw  a  lady  and  gentleman  walking  from 
the  station  toward  Claremont  Villa,  and  that  the 
gentleman  looked  very  like  Sebastian.  [Catching 
sight  of  sunshade.)  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  am  sure, 
but  I  thought  you  were  alone.  This  sunshade — 
It  cannot  be  that  Sebastian  has  brought  back  a 


54  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

woman  from  Vienna  with  him  ?  And  if  he  had 
been  guihy  of  such  imprudence,  you,  Mr.  Davenant, 
I  know  would  not  sanction 


Davenant.  He  has  come  back,  but  he  isn't  here. 
He  will  be  in  Rockminster  a  little  later.  And  now, 
Lady  Thurlow,  let  me  beg  of  you  to  come  at  once, 
for  I  have  to  see  him  there,  and  if  I  stay  another 
moment  I  shall  miss  the  train.  You  will  excuse 
me  ? 

Lady  Thurlow.  Let  me  drive  you  back.  My 
carriage  is  at  the  door. 

Davenant.  Let  me  see  ;  but  there  is  no  time  for 
thinking.  Yes,  Lady  Thurlow,  you  shall  drive  me 
back.  [Exeunt.  Davenant  is  heard  outside.)  So 
very  kind  of  you.         Enter  Sebastian  and  Gahrielle. 

Gabrielle  [looking  round).  But  where  is  that 
dear  Mr.  Dayne  ?  Did  I  say  anything  very  shock- 
ing, darling  ?  something  that  frightened  him  away  ? 
He  not  even  dared  to  bid  me  good-bye.  One  of  my 
friends  say  that  he  never  knew  a  lady  who  talked 
such  dreadful  things  as  I  do,  and  my  eyes  look  so 
innocently  all  the  while.  You  must  run  after 
Mr.  Dayne  and  bring  him  back,  for  my  walk  must 
not  be  spoiled. 

Sebastian.  I  don't  know  where  to  run,  and  I 
am  not  in  the  habit  of  running  after  my  secretary. 
Martin  will  tell  us.  He  rings  the  hell. 

Countess.  He  wouldn't  go  away  without  leaving 
a  message  for  me.  You  heard  me  tell  him,  did 
you  not,  that  I  hate  to  be  disappointed  ?  [Enter 
Martin.)  Can  you  tell  me  quickly  if  Mr.  Dayne  has 
gone  to  the  station  to  get  the  train  ?     Or  has  he 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  55 

gone  to  the  garden  to  gather  me  some  flowers  ? 
How  nice  of  him,  for  men  so  seldom  hke  flowers. 

Martin.  Lady  Thurlow  called,  your  ladyship, 
and  Mr.  Dayne  has  gone  back  to  Rockminster  with 
her  in  her  carriage. 

Countess.  We  must  pursue  them  in  another 
carriage. 

Sebastian.  My  dear  Gabrielle  !  Thank  you, 
Martin,  that  will  do.  Exit  Martin. 

Gabrielle.  Is  Lady  Thurlow  Mr.  Dayne 's  mis- 
tress ?  But  that  cannot  be,  for  you  told  me,  darhng, 
that  Mr.  Dayne  was  no  longer  as  fond  as  he  used 
to  be  of  la  jemme  de  trente  ans.  Such  a  malchance  I 
just  as  I  was  beginning  to  be  one  in  the  full  sense 
of  the  word.  Or  did  Mr.  Dayne  take  Lady  Thurlow 
away  because  she  loves  you  ?  Isn't  that  the  busi- 
ness of  secretaries  as  much  as  WTiting  ?  It  used  to 
be  in  the  Mddle  Ages.  Was  Mr.  Dayne  afraid  I 
should  make  a  scene  ?  I  don't  make  scenes,  not  as 
you  in  England  ;  I  merely  cry,  and  then  my  nose 
gets  swollen  and  I  have  hardly  any  eyes.  You  will 
not  make  me  cry,  darhng,  by  being  unfaithful  to 
me  ?  But  of  what  are  you  thinking  ?  Of  some 
woman  that  you  have  loved  a  little  bit  ?  Tell  me 
the  truth,  dear,  and  I  will  forgive  you,  if  it  was 
long  ago  and  if  she  was  not  very  pretty  nor  very 
young  ;  middle-aged  I  should  prefer  it,  but  not 
dead,  for  the  dead  have  a  power  that  the  hving  ones 
have  not.  You  didn't  desire  her,  and  leave  her 
with  a  baby  which  you  will  ask  me  to  adopt.  That 
I  should  not  like  doing — no,  never,  so  please  don't 
ask  it.     But  why,  darling,  are  you  making  such 


56  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

naughty  nostrils  ?  You  remind  me  of  my  husband 
that  was,  and  though  we  are  married  you  said 
you  would  always  be  my  lover. 

Sebastian.  I  am  thinking,  Gabrielle,  that — 
Gabrielle,  there  is  nobody  in  the  world  for  me  but 
you,  and  if  I  am  anything  at  all  to  you  will 
you  follow  me  who  have  followed  you  for  the  last 
three  weeks,  journeying  from  town  to  town  ? — 
a  whimsical  literary  idea  of  yours,  but  I  put  up 
with  it  all  for  your  sake.  Now,  Gabrielle,  will 
you  put  up  with  a  little  for  my  sake  ? 

Gabrielle.  But,  Lewis,  what  do  you  want  me 
to  do  ? 

Sebastian.  Questions  are  clouds,  and  there  should 
be  no  clouds  in  the  beautiful  blue  heaven  of  June. 

Gabrielle.  Darling,  what  you  say  is  poetical, 
but  there  are  always  clouds  in  the  English  sky. 

Sebastian.  Then  let  us  go  back  to  Germany. 
We  were  happy  in  Germany — anywhere  away  from 
Rockminster.  Here  I  am  surrounded  with  relations 
and  friends.  Let  us  go  back  to  those  quaint 
Rhenish  towns  and  to  the  time  when  I  used  to  sit 
at  your  feet  and  tell  you  the  story  of  my  life.  Let 
us  go  back. 

Gabrielle.  But  you  have  told  me  the  story  of 
your  life. 

Sebastian.  No,  no,  not  all  of  it. 

Gabrielle.  We  cannot  go  away  without  luggage. 

Sebastian.  Our  luggage  can  follow  us. 

Gabrielle.  Then  there  are  your  letters  and 
business  with  Mr.  Dayne.  Ach  I  why  did  Mr.  Dayne 
go  away  like  this  ? 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  57 

Sebastian.  You  were  interested  in  him  the 
moment  you  came  into  the  room.  The  most  capri- 
cious woman  in  the  world,  hke  the  wind  that  blows, 
the  thistledown  in  the  air.  Men  are  your  amuse- 
ment, your  pleasure  ;  the  old  succeed  the  young 
and  the  ugly  the  beautiful.  You  said  you  had  hot 
finger-tips  the  moment  you  met  me  in  the  railway 
train,  and  when  you  came  into  the  room  and  saw 
Mr.  Dayne 

Gabrielle.  No,  I  had  not  hot  finger-tips.  I  Hke 
Mr.  Dayne  because  his  eyes  are  kind  and  his  teeth 
are  so  nice,  and  he  would  have  amused  me  for  the 
afternoon. 

Sebastian.  Go  to  Rockminster  after  him  and 
amuse  yourself.  But  before  you  go  I  must  tell 
you Enter  Martift. 

Martin.  Mr.  Godby,  sir.  Enter  Godby. 

Sebastian.  Godby  !  Well,  it  is  better  so,  for 
I  might  never  have  found  courage  to  tell  you. 

Gabrielle.  To  tell  me  what  ? 

Sebastian.  To  tell  you  that 

Godby.  Excuse  me,  ma'am,  but  you  see  I've 
been  up  after  these  letters  afore  now,  and  one  can't 
keep  running  up  from  Southampton  again  and 
again  after  a  packet  of  letters,  to  say  nothing  of 
Priscilla  nagging  at  me. 

Gabrielle.  I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand. 

Godby.  No  more  did  Mr.  Davenant.  You  see, 
it  ain't  possible  for  me  to  go  back  to  Priscilla  a 
second  time  without  them  letters,  and  they  promised 
to  let  me  'ave  them  the  last  time  I  was  'ere. 

Gabrielle.  What  letters  ? 


58  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

GODBY.  Why,  the  letters  'e  \\Tote  to  Priscilla  .  .  . 
before  she  and  I  was  spHced.  You  see,  ma'am,  it 
wasn't  the  fault  of  the  young  gentleman,  it  was 
Priscilla  what  commenced  the  correspondence  over 
having  read  one  of  his  books.  I  'ave  forgotten  the 
name.     Give  me  a  moment. 

Gabrielle.  "  Ehzabeth  Cooper  "  ? 

GoDBY.  That  was  the  book  that  fair  turned  'er 
'ead,  and  'e  sent  her  heaps  of  letters  and  pomes. 
And  now  that  she  'as  become  Mrs.  G.  she  has  been 
worrying  of  me  to  get  her  letters  back.  She's  afeard 
he  might  pubhsh  them  ;  she  says  you  never  know 
what  these  hterary  gents  \\ill  do  \^ith  letters,  and 
this  is  the  second  time  I  'ave  come  up  from  South- 
ampton after  them. 

Gabrielle.  Was  there  a  poem  beginning  "  After 
many  days,  and  after  man}'  years  ?  " 

GoDBY.  Well,  ma'am,  I  can't  say,  though  she  'as 
read  them  to  me  often  enough.  You  see,  I  'ave  no 
head  for  poetry.  "  After  many  days  and  after 
many  tears,"  yer  say.  There  were  plenty  of  tears 
in  the  pomes  and  sighs  and  'earts  and  kisses. 

Gabrielle.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Godby,  that's  all 
I  want  to  know.  Now  I'll  leave  ^'ou  to  settle  your 
business  \nth  this  gentleman. 

SJie  goes  towards  the^door. 

Sebastian.  Gabrielle,  I  can  explain. 

Gabrielle.  I  prefer  to  listen  to  Mr.  Dayne's 
explanations.  Exit. 

Sebastian  [lookmg  at  his  watch).  There  is  a  train 
in  a  few  minutes.  She'll  just  catch  it.  I  must 
run. 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  59 

GoDBY.  Ah  no,  you  don't,  not  till  I  gets  Priscilla's 
letters. 

Sebastian.  But  they  are  in  Rockminster,  my 
good  man.     Let  me  go. 

GoDBY.  Not  if  I  knows  it.  We'll  go  back  to 
Rockminster  together. 

5^  Sebastian.  If  you  run  we  can  catch  the  train. 
l'":  GoDBY.  Run  !     I  likes  to   'ear  you  talk  about 
running,  and  to  a  man  who  'as  walked  all  the  way 
from  Rockminster.     This  be  the  'ottest  day  we've 
'ad  this  summer.     Run,  indeed  ! 

Sebastian.  Let  me  go,  let  me  go. 

GoDBY.  Pull  that  bell  and  ask  your  parlour- 
maid to  bring  me  up  a  glass  of  ale. 

Sebastian.  There  isn't  time  for  drinking  ale. 

GoDBY.  Out  of  this  I  don't  stir  till  I  gets  it. 

The  train  whistle  is  heard. 

Sebastian.  There!  We've  missed  the  train.  (He 
rings  the  hell.  Enter  Martin.)  Martin,  will  you 
bring  a  tankard  of  ale  and  two  glasses  ? 

Martin  goes  out  looking  very  astonished. 


Curtain 


ACT  III 

Scene  :  Same  as  tn  Act  I. 

When  the  Curtain  rises  Davenant  is  on  the  stage 
in  evening  dress.     Enter  Sebastian  and  Godhy. 

GoDBY.  'Ere  we  are,  the  very  room — 'member  it 
jush  as  if  it  was  yesseday.  Beg  pardon,  sir,  Godby, 
second  mate  on  the  Hannah  Maria.  Don't  you 
remember  Godby,  sir  ?  Came  for  Priscilla's  letters 
'bout  month  ago. 

Davenant.  Yes,  Mr.  Godby,  I  remember. 

Godby.  Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  sheck- 
tery  breaks  his  word  ;  no  letters.  Priscilla  getting 
more  and  more  peevish  every  day  ;  no  letters.  'Ave 
to  come  up  again  from  Southampton.  Shecktery 
'broad,  self  at  Claremont  Villa.  Way  I  go,  all  sails 
set,  and  over'aul  shecktery  with  his  young  lady  ; 
bit  of  a  squall.  Shecktery  would  'ave  weighed 
anchor  and  gone  away  after  her,  but  I  says, 
"No,  shecktery,  no  shecktery,  not  this  time  ;  we 
go  back  together  after  a  bit  of  a  rest  and  a 
tankard  of  ale,  at  your  expense,  Mr.  Davennen. 
Fine  ale  :  drunk  yer  'ealth,  Mr.  Davennen.  Terrible 
'ot  day  ! 

Davenant.  I  can  see,  Mr.  Godby,  that  you 
are  suffering  from  the  heat.  Won't  you  sit 
down  ? 

60 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  6i 

GoDBY.  I'd  like  to  drop  my  anchor  somewhere. 
He  sits  down  on  a  light  chair.     Davenant  rushes 

forward. 

Davenant.  You'll  be  more  comfortable  in  this 
chair,  Mr.  Godby.      Puts  Godby  into  an  arm-chair. 

GoDBY.  Thank  'ee.  Very  comfortable  chair. 
But  the  letters  in  that  'ere  casket. 

Sebastian.  No,  Mr.  Godby,  Priscilla's  letters  are 
downstairs. 

Godby.  Downstairs.  I'll  wait  'ere.  Shecktery 
.  .  .  letters  .  .  .  shecktery  good  sort.  D'ye  'ear, 
Mr.  Davennen  ?     Shecktery  good  sort. 

He   closes   his   eyes.     Davenant  and   Sebastian 

walk  aside. 

Davenant.  Now,  Sebastian,  what  is  all  this 
about  ? 

Sebastian.  Martin  let  this  man  into  the  house 
and  we  have  been  coming  back  ever  since,  from  ale- 
house to  ale-house. 

Davenant.  A  drunken  man  in  this  house  and  an 
Austrian  countess  in  Clare mont  Villa.  These  eccen- 
tricities are  no  doubt  very  amusing,  Sebastian,  but 
I  shall  have  to  explain  to  your  father 

Sebastian.  Explain  what  you  like  ;  I  don't 
care  ;  I'm  done  for. 

Davenant.  Is  it  so  bad  as  that  ?  You  have  told 
her,  and 

Sebastian.  Just  as  I  was  trying  to  summon  up 
courage  to  tell  her,  this  fellow  came  rolling  into  the 
room  asking  for  the  letters  that  I  had  promised  to 
send  him.  At  the  word  letters  Gabrielle  began  to 
grow  suspicious,  and  the  garrulous  fool  that  he  is. 


62  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

thinking  to  make  matters  right,  said  I  hadn't 
written  to  Priscilla  since  they  were  sphced.  What 
did  Gabrielle  care  whether  it  was  before  or  after 
marriage  ?  All  that  concerned  her  was  the  fact 
that  I  had  sent  the  poems  that  I  had  written  to  her 
to  this  fellow's  wife.  As  soon  as  she  knew  that 
she  just  gave  me  a  look.  You  wouldn't  believe  that 
so  much  hatred  could  come  into  that  face.  She 
picked  up  her  parasol  and  ran  away. 

Davenant.  And  you  let  her  go  without  an 
explanation  ? 

Sebastian.  As  I  was  about  to  follow  her — ^is  that 
fellow  asleep  ? 

Davenant.  He  seems  as  if  he  were. 

Sebastian.  He  gripped  me  by  the  arm  and  hung 
on  to  me,  and  a  few  minutes  after  I  heard  the  train 
whistle. 

Davenant.  And  she  went  away  still  thinking 
that  she  is  married  to  me  ?  You  really  must  go 
and  tell  her. 

Sebastian.  I  don't  know  where  she  is. 

Enter  Fletcher  with  a  letter,  which  he  hands  to 

Davenant  and  goes  out. 

Davenant  {reading  the  letter).  She  is  at  the 
"  Three  Kings  "  and  asks  if  she  can  see  me  at  once-, 
for  she  is  leaving  Rockminster  to-morrow  morning. 
You  must  go  and  tell  her. 

Sebastian.  Now  ?    At  once  ? 

Davenant.  Why  not  ? 

Sebastian.  Lewis,  it's  a  terrible  thing  to  tell  a 
woman  you  have  married  her  under  a  false  name. 

Davenant.  But  she  loves  you* 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  63 

Sebastian.  Even  so.  Lewis,  \\ill  you  be  the 
greatest  friend  a  man  ever  had  ?  Don't  ask  me  to 
go  and  tell  her — not  here,  not  in  Rockminster  ;  that 
is  what  I  dread.  She  is  coming  to  see  3'ou.  Ask 
her  to  let  me  go  away  ^^ith  her,  and  I  promise 
you  I  \rill  tell  her  everything  as  soon  as  we  are 
ten  miles  from  here. 

Davenant.  Do  you  think  you  \rill  ever  be  able 
to  summon  up  courage  ? 
Sebastian.  I'll  have  to. 
Davenant.  And  will  she  forgive  you  ? 
Sebastian.  WTiether   she   does   or   doesn't,   she 
must  be  told.     But  \\ill  you  do  what  I  ask  you, 
Le\\is  ?     Give  me  one  more  chance,  I  beseech  you. 
Davenant.  I  will  write  her  a  note.    Will  you 
ring  the  bell  ?     {He  sits  down  and  scribbles  a  note.) 
Now,  what  name  am  I  to  put  to  the  end  of  the  note  ? 
You  see  what  you  are  letting  me  in  for.     The  note 
must  be  signed.     My  handwriting  and  your  name. 
{He  signs  his  name.     Enter  Fletcher.)     Will  you  have 
this  note  sent  round  to  the  "  Three  Kings  "  at  once  ? 
Fletcher.  Yes,  sir.  Exit. 

Sebastian.  Thank  you,  Le\sis,  thank  you.  And 
now  nothing  remains  but  to  wake  up  our  \'isitor. 

Davenant.  But  how  are  we  to  get  rid  of  him  ? 
He  won't  go  without  the  letters. 

Sebastian.  I  know  where  they  are.  {He  goes 
over  to  Godby)  Now,  I\Ir.  Godby,  shake  your  leg, 
lift  your  leg. 

Godby  {waking  up).  Aye,  aye.  Captain,  aye,  aye. 
Blesh  my  soul  .  .  .  blesh  my  soul,  where  am  I  ? 
{Getting  to  his  feet.)    ]\Iisher  Davennen.     Shecktery. 


64  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Long  walk.  'Eat  of  the  sun.  Arlright.  Come  back 
for  Priscilla's  letters.  {Holding  out  his  hand.)  Sheck- 
tery,  Priscilla's  letters. 

Sebastian.  Priscilla's  letters  are  downstairs,  Mr. 
Godby. 

GoDBY.  Very  well ;  get  away  close  hauled.  Cargo 
on  board,  Priscilla's  letters.  A  glass  of  ale,  Mr. 
Davennen,  before  starting.  Glass  of  ale  does  no 
man  any  harm. 

Davenant.  You'll  give  ]\Ir.  Godby  a  glass  of  ale 
in  the  parlour,  Sebastian. 

Godby.  Thank  'ee,  captain  ;  drink  yer  'ealth. 
Fine  ale  in  this  country — besh  ever  drunk.  One 
glass  at  **  Three  Fiddlers,"  should  'ave  been  two  ; 
two  glasses  at  "  Pig  and  WTaistle,"  should  'ave  been 
three  ;  four  glasses  at  the  "  Rose  and  Crown," 
should  have  been  five.  England's  bulwarks  is  'er 
ale  :  as  long  as  England  brews  the  ale  that  I  'ave 
drunk  to-day  England  will  never  be  anythin'  else 
but  Merrie  England.  {Begins  to  sing.)  "  Oh  !  for 
Merrie  England  and  the  merrie  days  of  yore." 

Sebastian.  Come  away  and  we'll  drink  Mr. 
Davenant 's  health. 

Godby.  Yesh.  ]\Iisher  Davennen 's  'ealth,  Pris- 
cilla's 'ealth,  shecktery's  'ealth,  everybody's  'ealth. 
{Sebastian  helps  him  out.  Coming  hack.)  Wonch 
you  join  us,  IMisher  Davennen  ? 

Davenant.  Presently,  Mr.  Godby,  presently. 
{Godby  goes  out.)  I  shall  expect  you  back  to  dinner, 
Sebastian.  {Returning  into  the  room.)  This  joke 
of  mine  seems  to  be  no  joke  at  all  ;  I  am  getting 
very  tired  of  it.     Instead  of  asking  her  to  stay  to 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  65 

dinner,  I  find  m^^self  obliged  to  beg  her  to  go  away 
with  Sebastian  and  without  her  dinner. 

He  rings  the   hell  and  walks  across  the  stage. 

Enter  Fletcher  ;   he  stands  waiting  for  Davenant' s 

orders. 

Fletcher.  Yes,  sir. 

Davenant  {waking  w^).^bout  the  dinner.  How 
many  are  you  expecting  ? 

Fletcher.  You  mentioned  eleven,  sir ;  you 
weren't  certain  about  Mr.  Dayne. 

Davenant.  Mr.  Dayne  is  coming  to  dinner,  and 
I  suppose  you  want  to  know  how  to  place  the  people. 
Here  is  a  card.  (He  goes  over  to  the  writing-table 
and  takes  a  card  jrojn  it  and  hands  it  to  Fletcher.) 
The  gardener  sent  the  flowers  all  right  ? 

Fletcher.  Yes,  sir. 

Davenant.  I  told  him  to  send  some  carnations. 
And  Mr.  Ireton  is  coming.  He  does  not  drink 
champagne  ;  you  had  better  have  a  bottle  of  the 
best  claret  warmed  for  him. 

Fletcher.  Very  good,  sir. 

Davenant.  I  remember  too  that  Sir  Robert 
Basing  likes  Nepaul  pepper.  You  had  better  put 
the  little  pepper-pot  that  we  use  in  front  of  him. 

Fletcher.  Yes,  sir.  You'll  excuse  me,  sir,  your 
necktie  has  been  crumpled  in  the  tpng.  I  will 
fetch  you  another. 

He  goes  out.     Davenant  looks  in  the  glass. 

Davenant.  Yes,  I  have  tied  it  rather  badly. 
That  drunken  fellow  coming  in  at  the  moment. 
[Enter  Fletcher  with  another  tie.  Davenant  ties  it 
before  the  glass.)     I  think  that  is  better. 

e 


66  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Fletcher.  Yes,  sir,  that  is  quite  all  right.  Is 
there  anything  else  ? 

Davenant.  No  ;  the  rest  of  the  service  is  as 
usual.  A  bell  rings. 

Fletcher.  I  think  that  is  the  front -door  bell. 
Teresa  has  let  a  lady  in,  sir.  Are  you  at  home  to 
anybody  ? 

Davenant.  Yes,  I  am  expecting  a  lady. 

Exit  Fletcher  ;    he  returns  a  moment  afterwards 

followed  by  Gabrielle. 

Fletcher.  The  Countess  Von  Hoenstadt.      Exit. 

Gabrielle.  I  hope  you  aren't  very  cross  with 
me,  Mr.  Dayne,  because  I  have  come  to  see  you 
before  dinner,  but  you  don't  dine  till  eight  and  I 
felt  that  I  must  speak  to  you — have  you  all  to 
myself ;  for  you  see  I  have  not  seen  you  alone  yet, 
Mr.  Dayne.  But  don't  look  so  serious,  as  if  you 
thought  me  a  bore. 

Davenant.  My  dear  Countess,  whatever  else  one 
might  think,  no  one  can  think  you  a  bore. 

Gabrielle.  That  is  such  a  comfort.  But  if  you 
don't  think  me  a  bore,  why  did  you  run  aw^ay  in  that 
rude  fashion  from  Claremont  Villa  ?  The  moment 
I  left  the  room  away  you  went  with  Lady  Thurlow. 

Davenant.  I  had  to  come  back  to  finish  some 
work,  burning  the  midnight  oil. 

Gabrielle.  I  am  sure  you  will  die  very  soon  if 
you  go  on  \\Titing  from  morning  till  night.  Why 
do  you  do  it,  dear  Mr.  Dayne  ?  Really,  I  must 
scold  you  a  little.  I  do  not  want  you  to  fall  ill. 
You  may  write  four  or  five  hours  every  day,  but  no 
more,  and  you  must  go  for  long  walks.     If  I  were 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  67 

li\dng  in  this  house  I  should  send  you  out  for  two 
hours  every  day  at  least,  and  in  this  room  I  should  like 
heaps  and  heaps  of  flowers  and  some  cushions.  How 
long  have  you  been  without  cushions,  dear  Mr.  Day  ne  ? 

Davenant.  I'm  afraid  you  don't  like  your  house. 

Gabrielle.  My  house  ?  I  had  forgotten.  Is 
the  house  really  mine  ?  And  everything  in  it  ? 
All  that  lovely  china.  My  house  is  a  little  like  a 
museum.  Well,  let's  imagine  we  are  in  a  museum. 
Take  me  round,  show  me  the  pictures.  Ah,  here 
is  a  portrait  of  yourself.  How  very  hke  you  !  I 
am  glad  your  hair  is  grey  and  I  am  glad  you  have 
nice  moustaches.  It  is  so  fortunate  that  they  are 
not  drooping  like  00.  That  would  be  dreadful. 
You  have  what  I  call  a  horse-face.  My  face  is  like 
a  cat's.     When  was  the  portrait  done  ? 

Davenant.  Only  two  years  ago  by  a  rising  young 
artist,  John  Everett  Millais,  the  leader  of  the  pre- 
Raphaelites. 

Gabrielle.  I  hope  you  will  not  expect  me  to 
talk  clever  things  about  pictures  and  statues  ;  I 
can't  do  that,  and  why  should  I  ?  I  hke  beautiful 
things,  but  \'nlgar  ones  I  hate.  I  have  always 
been  like  that.  I  remember  when  I  was  a  little 
girl  of  six  or  seven  the  Bibhothique  rose  I  was  very 
fond  of,  but  some  of  the  pictures  shocked  me  dread- 
fully. Madame  Fichini  falling  a  la  renverse  and 
exhibiting  her  dreadful  mollets  was  too  much  for 
me.  I  took  the  book  in  a  corner  pour  effacer  the 
shocking  things  with  an  eraser.  I  am  not  trying 
to  copy  EHzabeth,  but  I  have  scruples  sometimes, 
onlyabout  ugly  things.  InVenice  I  saw  lovely  statues; 


68  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

there  was  especially  one  which  I  liked  to  look  at — 
Leda  with  a  swan.     Do  you  like  statues  of  Leda  ? 

Davenant.  There  is  one  by  Michael  Angelo 

Gabrielle.  Ah,  he  was  a  stern  man  and  did  not 
make  her  hold  her  swan  gracefully  in  her  arms  like 
the  Venetian. 

Davenant.  Perhaps  not.  His  statue  is  in 
Florence.     Have  you  been  to  Florence,  Countess  ? 

Gabrielle.  No.     Have  you,  Mr.  Dayne  ? 

Davenant.  Yes. 

Gabrielle.  What  a  pity  !  I  suppose  you  bought 
some  of  those  pictures  in  Italy. 

Davenant.  I  have  never  had  money  to  buy 
pictures.     These  are  Lewis's. 

Countess.  But  he  doesn't  care  for  pictures. 
When  we  were  in  the  Louvre 

Davenant.  You  were  always  between  him  and 
the  pictures.  Some  of  this  china  is  mine.  Here 
are  a  few  bits  of  Bow  and  Chelsea,  our  imitations 
of  your  Dresden,  and  here  is  a  piece  of  jade. 

Gabrielle.  How  very  pretty  !  You  know  how 
badly  he  treated  me  ? 

She  walks  about  with  the  piece  of  jade  in  her 

hand.     Davenant    watches    her,    fearful    lest    she 

should  drop  it. 

Davenant.  I  have  heard  what  happened  at 
Claremont  Villa. 

Gabrielle.  Has  he  been  here  ? 

Davenant.  He  came  here  with  Mr.  Godby.     Let 

me  relieve  you.     {He  takes  the  piece  of  jade  and  puts 

it  hack  in  its  place  and  returns  to  her.)     They  arrived 

here  very  tired  after  a  long  walk,  having  stopped  at 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  69 

all    the    ale-houses    on    the    way,    Lewis    Godby's 
prisoner  and  Godby  gleefully  drunk. 

Gabrielle.  Can  you  be  drunk  gleefiilly  ?  I  sup- 
pose you  can.  You  make  me  laugh  in  spite  of  myself, 
but  I  am  in  no  laughing  humour.  It  was  horrid, 
disgusting  ;  it  was  cowardly,  wicked  ;  it  was  every- 
thing that  one  can  say  in  Enghsh,  and  if  you  knew 
German  I  would  tell  3'ou  heaps  and  heaps  of  words. 
Davenant.  But,  my  dear  Countess,  as  I  under- 
stand the  matter,  the  quarrel  between  you  and 
Lewis  is  only  about  a  poem. 

Countess.  If  he  had  pubhshed  the  poem  I 
would  not  have  said  anything,  but  it  was  sending  it 
to  another  woman,  that  is  what  has  annoyed  me,  and 
has  made  it  impossible  for  me  ever  to  see  him  again. 

Davenant.  That  seems  a  httle  unreasonable. 
Countess  ;  one  woman  inspires  the  poem,  all  women 
receive  it. 

Gabrielle.  In  print,  not  in  manuscript. 
Davenant.  Before  print  there  was  manuscript. 
Laura  inspired  Petrarch's  sonnets,  but  they  were 
circulated  in  manuscript.  We  need  only  go  back 
a  httle.  Lewis's  methods  are  archaic  ;  that  is  the 
worst  that  can  be  said  of  them. 

Gabrielle.  You  are  indulging,  Mr.  Dayne,  in 
what  we  call  on  the  Continent  marivaudage,  but  I 
am  serious. 

Davenant.  You  really  mean  you  will  never  see 
Lewis  again  ? 

Gabrielle.  Never  ;   on  that  I  must  insist. 
Davenant.  Not    even    when    you    are    an    old 
woman  ? 


70  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Gabrielle.  Everything  will  be  different  then, 
but  not  for  years  and  years  to  come. 

Davenant.  That  seems  rather  sad,  doesn't  it, 
Gabrielle  ?  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  the  name  is 
so  beautiful  and  I  have  seen  it  so  often  at  the  end 
of  your  letters. 

Gabrielle.  You  can  call  me  Gabrielle  if  you 
really  like  it  so  much.  I  shall  not  be  offended. 
When  I  was  born  they  saw  at  once  that  I  wasn't 
a  boy  and  they  were  disappointed,  as  a  son  was 
wanted.  They  called  me  Gabrielle  because  they 
think  in  Austria  that  when  a  girl  is  called  Gabrielle 
the  next  child  will  be  a  boy. 

Davenant.  It  is  very  Idnd  of  you  to  grant  me 
the  privilege,  and  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  abuse 
it,  only  in  private. 

Gabrielle.  Why  in  private  and  not  in  public  ? 

Davenant.  Lewis  would  not  like  it. 

Gabrielle.  Why  do  you  talk  to  me  about  him  ? 
If  I  didn't  like  you  very  much,  Mr.  Dayne,  I 
should 

Davenant.  My  dear  Countess,  Gabrielle,  he  is 
your  husband. 

Gabrielle.  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  reminding 
me  of  a  disagreeable  circumstance.  I  thought  to 
find  in  you  a  sympathetic  friend,  and  wished  to 
lalk  to  one  who  would  soothe  my  nerves,  and  instead 
of  that  you  have  done  just  the  opposite.  You  don't 
like  me.     Good-bye,  Mr.  Dayne. 

She  goes  up  the  stage  towards  the  door.     Davenant 

follows  her  and  brings  her  hack. 

Davenant.  No,  no,  you  mustn't  go   hke  that. 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  71 

I  am  sorr^'  I  have  failed  to  understand  you.  Come 
back,  and  in  five  minutes  we  shall  be  friends  again. 

Gabrielle.  You  will  not  talk  to  me  about  him  ? 

Davenant.  No,  not  a  word  since  you  don't  \^ish  it. 

Gabrielle.  You'll  talk  to  me  about  3'ourself, 
and  exclusively  ? 

Davexant.  Yes,  exclusively. 

Gabrielle.  Well,  then,  I  \\i\l  come  back.  But 
I  don't  think  I  can  hsten  to  you  as  I  should  like  to 
listen  to  you.     You  see,  you  have  upset  my  nerves. 

Davexaxt.  And  you  want  a  httle  mattress  and 
a  soft  warm  little  coverlet  for  each  of  3'our  nerves. 

Gabrielle.  Now  you  are  quoting  from  my  letters. 

Davexaxt.  Come,  sit  do^^^l  beside  me. 

Gabrielle.  Have  you  ever  been  to  Vienna, 
Mr.  Dayne  ?     You  have  been  to  Germany,  I  know. 

Davexaxt.  Not  further  south  than  Bavaria. 

Gabrielle.  One  of  these  days  you  ^^ill  come  to 
Vienna,  and  if  you  do  you  will  knock  at  my  door 
.  .  .  and  you  will  let  me  know  beforehand,  for  it 
would  be  too  dreadful  for  words  if  you  came  and 
Gabrielle  had  left.  You  never  would  get  consoled, 
I  hope  ;  nor  would  I.  But  3'ou  mustn't  come  in 
the  winter  ;  it  is  always  raining  then,  and  Vienna  is 
so  dirty  when  it  does,  but  in  the  spring  it  is  lovely. 

Davexaxt.  I  will  come  in  April.  Is  April  too 
early  ? 

Gabrielle.  I  would  hke  you  to  come  in  Feb- 
ruar}',  because  then  my  freckles  are  less  visible  and 
furs  are  becoming. 

Davexaxt.  Yes,  so  they  are,  the  furs  and  the 
freckles  too. 


72  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Gabrielle.  But  I  freckle  under  my  ears.     See  ? 

She  shows  him  her  neck. 

Davenant.  The  freckles  render  a  beautiful  neck 
still  more  desirable  [she  draws  away)  by  their 
naturalness.  You  are  going  to  remain  in  England 
for  the  summer  ? 

Gabrielle.  No,  I  am  going  abroad  at  once,  to 
Paris  first  and  then  to  the  seaside — ^to  Dieppe, 
Trouville,  or  some  tiny  little  fishing  village.  Etretat 
I  have  heard  of — a  little  village  where  you  can 
bathe  without  anybody  seeing  you,  which  is  what 
I  like,  for  it  gives  me  des  crampes  of  every  kind  to 
think  of  anybody  seeing  me  rising  out  of  the  sea  in 
a — do  you  say  sea-gown  ? 

Davenant.  No,  we  say  bathing-gown. 

Gabrielle.  And  you  say  well,  for  a  more  unbe- 
coming garment  never  was  invented,  exaggerating 
all  one's  little  roundnesses. 

Davenant.  I  used  to  bathe  long  ago  in  Etretat 
with  the  French  painters. 

Gabrielle.  Why  not  return  ?  Ah,  no,  I  must 
not  ask  you,  though  you  are  a  very  sympathetic 
Mr.  Dayne. 

Davenant.  I  might  go  abroad  in  the  autumn,  and 
in  Italy  we  might  meet,  in  Venice 

Gabrielle.  It  would  be  nice  to  meet  you  in 
Venice  and  to  sit  in  a  gondola  looking  at  the  moon 
and  hstening  to  that  noisy  Italian  music  that  would 
be  dreadful  elsewhere,  but  in  Venice  one  Hkes  it,  and 
you  could  tell  me  your  troubles  holding  my  hand. 

Davenant  [going  to  her).  Countess,  is  this  a 
promise  r 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  73 

Gabrielle.  Why  shouldn't  we  meet  in  Venice  ? 
Everybody  meets  in  Venice. 

Davenant.  But  you  said  to  hold  your  hand. 

Gabrielle.  You  can  hold  my  hand  now,  Mr. 
Dayne. 

Davenant.  Remember  that  I  am  but  flesh  and 
blood  ;  I  might  lose  my  head  so  completely  in 
Venice 

Gabrielle.  Are  you  afraid  to  finish  your  sentence  ? 

Davenant.  I  might  ask  you  to  love  me.  Countess. 

Gabrielle.  Does  one  ask  ? 

Davenant.  I  suppose  not.     Gabrielle 

He  takes  her  in  his  arms. 

Gabrielle.  We  aren't  in  Venice  yet.  {He  holds 
her.)     No,  no,  you  mustn't  kiss  me. 

Davenant.  If  I  may  not  kiss  you,  why  do  you 
ask  me  to  meet  you  in  Venice  ? 

Gabrielle.  I  don't  know. 

Davenant.  Don't  say  you  don't  know.  A  woman 
always  knows. 

Gabrielle.  I  swear,  Mr.  Dayne,  that  I  don't 
know  why 

Davenant.  Why  did  you  come  here  ? 

Gabrielle.  I  don't  know,  an  impulse  ;  I  am  full 
of  impulses.  You  must  let  me  go.  And  now, 
Mr.  Dayne,  why  did  you  want  to  kiss  me  ?  Re- 
member, one  always  knows. 

Davenant.  Quite  true,  but  I'd  hke  to  tell  you 
first  why  you  asked  me  to  meet  you  abroad. 

Gabrielle.  Did  I  ask  you  ? 

Davenant.  Have  you  forgotten  already  ?  And 
I  am  not  surprised  if  you  have.     You  are  angry 


74  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

with  Lewis  and  you  came  here  with  the  intention  of 
revenging  yourself. 

Gabrielle.  And  lacked  courage.  You  may  be 
right.  And  now,  since  you  are  so  clever,  will  you 
tell  me  why  you  wanted  to  kiss  me  ? 

Davenant.  I  wanted  to  prove  to  you  that  you 
love  your  husband,  and  I  have  proved  it. 

Gabrielle.  Because  I  refused  to  kiss  you  I  love  my 
husband  ?    I  did  not  expect  to  find  you  so  conceited. 

Davenant.  You  mean  that  you  don't  believe 
a  man  could  be  so  disinterested.  Well,  I  admit 
that  your  mirror 

Gabrielle.  I  am  in  no  humour  for  marivaudage. 
Where  is  Lewis  ?  Enter  Sebastian. 

Davenant.  My  news  so  far  as  it  goes  is  good 
news.  I  have  succeeded  in  persuading  the  Countess 
that  she  loves  you,  though  of  course  you  have 
behaved  very  badly. 

Sebastian.  Gabrielle,  you  have  forgiven  me  ! 

Gabrielle.  Mr.  Dayne  says  that  one  woman 
inspires  the  poem  and  all  women  receive  it,  so  I 
suppose  I  must  be  satisfied. 

Sebastian.  My  whole  life  will  be  devoted  to  you 
from  this  hour ;  I  will  explain  to  you  in  the 
train.  One  leaves  in  half  an  hour  ;  we  shall  just 
catch  it. 

Gabrielle.  Catch  a  train  !  But  we  have  been 
catching  trains  and  missing  them  for  the  last  three 
weeks. 

Sebastian.  At  Claremont  Villa  I  asked  you  to 
leave  this  place. 

Gabrielle.  You  want  me  to  go  back  to  Claremont 
Villa  ? 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  75 

Sebastian.  Much  farther  than  Claremont  Villa, 
out  of  this  country. 

Gabrielle.  But,  Lewis,  you  must  have  jumped 
out  of  your  senses.  \\^at  is  the  matter  wdth  him, 
Mr.  Dayne  ?  Now  that  I  have  forgiven  him  he 
wants  to  drag  me  away,  out  of  my  own  house  and 
before  I  have  had  dinner  ;  my  guests  eating  while 
I  am  star\ing. 

Sebastian.  We  can  get  something  to  eat  at  the 
railway-station,  and  Sebastian  can  stay  and  enter- 
tain your  guests.  I  assure  you  these  people  don't 
matter.  Nothing  matters  in  Rockminster.  Come, 
Gabrielle,  come. 

Gabrielle.  But  what  would  everybody  think  ? 
It  would  seem  as  if  I  were  filing  away  from  your 
relations,  and  I  am  most  anxious  to  see  the  relations 
of  the  man  I  have  married.  Perhaps  they  \\-ill  not 
hke  me  at  all  ;  if  so,  it  would  be  better  for  me  to 
see  them  and  then  never  come  back  to  Rockminster. 

Sebastian.  But  you  aren't  dressed  for  dinner  ; 
I  want  them  to  see  you  in  that  beautiful  dinner- 
dress  which  suits  you  so  well. 

Gabrielle.  That  dinner-dress  would  only  scan- 
daUze  your  relations,  who  cannot  be  expected  to 
hold  the  same  views  as  you  do,  Lewis.  I  think  this  is 
a  very  suitable  dress  in  which  to  appear  before  them. 

Sebastian.  It  is  cruel  of  you  to  refuse.  What 
new  caprice  is  this  ?  (Pause.)  You  aren't  in  love 
with  Sebastian,  are  you  ? 

Gabrielle.  I  am  in  love  with  Sebastian. 

Sebastian.  Gabrielle  ! 

Gabrielle.  I  am  in  love  with  the  Sebastian  that 
came  to  Vienna,  and  I  hke  very  much  the  Sebastian 


76  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

whom  I  met  here  and  who  brought  us  together, 
told  us  to  kiss  and  make  friends  as  skilfully  as  if 
he  were  writing  a  lover's  quarrel  in  one  of  his  books. 
[She  hursts  our  laughing.)  Dear  Mr.  Davenant,  you, 
the  great  psychological  novehst,  you  didn't  think 
that  I  believed  Sebastian  WTote  all  these  books  ? 
Sebastian,  how  could  you  have  fallen  in  love  with 
a  woman  whom  you  believed  to  be  such  a  fool  ? 
Two  such  clever  men,  a  poet  and  a  novelist.  Ach  I 
it  is  very  sad,  the  saddest  thing  that  has  ever 
happened  to  me  in  my  life. 

Davenant.  So  you  knew  all  the  time  that  Sebas- 
tian had  not  WTitten  "  EHzabeth  Cooper  "  !  But  in 
the  train  you  said,  "  You  are  Lewis  Davenant." 

Gabrielle.  He  was  looking  at  my  miniature  and 
for  the  moment 

Davenant.  You  were  deceived.  But  what  an 
enchanting  deception  !  You  should  thank  me, 
Countess,  for  ha\ing  spared  you  what  you  WTote 
for  and  sent  you  what  you  desired. 

Gabrielle.  I  would  kiss  you  for  Sebastian  if  I 
were  not  afraid  of  making  him  jealous.  Am  I  again 
on  the  verge  of  naughtiness  ?  I  am  afraid  I  am, 
but  you  both  deserve  it.  But  you  have  not  told 
me,  Mr.  Davenant,  if  you  are  sorry  that  you  did 
not  come  to  Vienna.  Would  you  have  been  dis- 
appointed in  me  ?  You  can  tell  me  better  now,  for 
before  you  had  only  seen  me  in  the  ivory.  But 
you  need  not  answer  ;  you  don't  know,  and  I 
puzzle  you. 

Davenant.  If  I  had  gone  to  Vienna  you  would 
have  missed  the  comedy  which  you  seem  to  have 
played  divinely  well. 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  yy 

Gabrielle.  Your  comedy,  IMr.  Davenant. 

Davenant.  iMine,  but  into  which  you  introduced 
a  marriage. 

Gabrielle.  I  have  always  said  that  I  should 
invent  marriage  if  it  had  not  been  invented  long 
ago  ;  and  the  day  that  I  invented  Sebastian's  was 
such  a  beautiful  day  and  the  church  looked  so 
lovely,  the  spire  showing  between  the  trees  and 
the  air  smelhng  of  hlac.  Has  Sebastian  told  you 
of  the  old  priest  that  we  found  asleep  in  a  chair, 
and  who  would  not  marry  us  for  a  long  while  because 
we  had  no  papers  to  show  ?  I  cried  and  turned 
away  saving,  "  What  sins  I  may  commit,  father, 
I  dedicate  to  you."     And  then  he 

Davenant.  I  suppose  there  is  nothing  to  do  but 
to  laugh,  only  it  is  rather  difficult  to  laugh  all  of  a 
sudden. 

Gabrielle.  Sebastian  isn't  laughing.  Sebastian, 
what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 

Sebastian.  I  suppose  you  thought  I  was  too 
stupid  to  write  any  of  Lewis's  books. 

Davenant.  Now,  Sebastian,  we  can't  have  any 
more  quarrels  to-night.  Look  upon  yourself  as 
the  most  fortunate  man  in  the  world.  Fellows  like 
you  always  get  out  of  their  scrapes.  {J^he  clock 
strikes  eight.)  Eight  o'clock  !  My  guests  will  soon 
be  here. 

Gabrielle.  May    Sebastian    take    me    to    your 

room  and  make  my  hair  for  me  ?     Come,  darling. 

Exeunt  Gabrielle  and  Sebastian.     Enter  Fletcher. 

Fletcher.  Lord  and  Lady  Thurlow. 

Enter  Lord  and  Lady  Thurlow. 

Lady  Thurlow.  The   Professor  and   Henrietta 


78  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

are  dreadfully  alarmed  about  Sebastian  and  this 
woman  who  calls  herself  the  Countess  Von  Hoen- 
stadt.  Enter  Fletcher. 

Fletcher.  Professor  and  Mrs.  Dayne  ! 

Enter  Professor  and  Mrs.  Dayne. 

Mrs.  Dayne.  What  has  happened  to  my  poor 
Sebastian  ?     Augusta  has  frightened  us. 

Professor.  We  would  like  to  know  if  he  is 
married  .  .  .  legally,  you  understand. 

Davenant.  They  were  married,  I  believe,  on  an 
island  in  the  Danube  by  an  old  priest  who  was  found 
asleep  in  a  chair.    Quite  a  Shakespearean  marriage. 

Yonder  is  a  hermit's  cell. 

Hermits    sleep    lightly ;    a   knock   will  awaken 
him, 

And  faithfully  we  twain  shall  be  united 

Ere  the  eastern  sun  flames  like  a  daffodil 

Amid  the  rooky  woods. 

Professor  Dayne.  No  other  pen  but  his 

Lady  Thurlow.  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Davenant,  but 
I  think  it  shows  a  lack  of  feeling  on  your  part  to 
joke  about  a  matter  that  is  so  serious  to  us  all. 
Just  at  the  present  moment  when  his  book  of 
poems  is  published  !  People  are  saying  all  sorts 
of  things — that  you  knew  her  very  well,  that  she  is 
an  old  friend  of  yours,  and  that  you  sent  this  poor 
boy  to  her. 

Davenant.  A  man  cannot  be  sent  to  the  woman 
he  loves  ;   he  goes  to  her  in  spite  of  himself. 

Lady  Thurlow.  People  think  very  badly  of 
your  conduct.  I  know  for  a  fact  that  Lady  Kings- 
weight  won't  come  here  to-night. 

Davenant.  Is  she  ill  ? 


ELIZABETH  COOPER  79 

Lady  Thurlow.  No,  she  is  shocked  ;  and  of 
course  Mr.  Ireton,  as  our  member,  couldn't  come. 
He  has  to  consider  his  constituents. 

Davenant.  Well,  the  last  thing  I  heard  was  that 
his  constituents  were  considering  him. 

Lady  Thurlow.  He  is  a  serious-minded  man. 
And  as  for  Sir  Robert  and  Lady  Basing,  I  don't 
mind  telhng  you  that  they  are  not  coming.  I  have 
come  because  I  hate  to  be  a  deserter  and  also  I 
must  see  poor  Sebastian.  Whatever  happens,  I 
must  stand  by  him.     Oh,  how  could  you  have  done 

this  ? 

Enter  Fletcher,   followed   by  Lady  Kingsweight 

and  Miss  Gasman. 

Fletcher.  Lady  Kingsweight  and  ]\Iiss  Gasman  ! 

Lady  Thurlow.  Well,  she  has  come  after  all. 
I  am  surprised.  But  Mr.  Ireton  was  speaking  of  the 
matter  this  evening,  and  he  could  not  understand, 

he  said,  how  a  man  of  your  experience 

Fletcher  enters,  followed  by  Mr.  Ireton. 

Fletcher.  Mr.  Ireton  ! 

Lady  Thurlow.  Well,  he  has  come  after  all. 

Lady  Kingsweight.  A  most  remarkable  story, 
Mr.  Davenant,  a  most  remarkable  story.  This  comes 
of  love  at  first  sight.  I  beheve  it  was  all  through 
seeing  a  miniature.  Do  let  me  see  the  miniature  of 
the  lady  who  inspired  this  passion. 

Fletcher  enters,  followed  by  Sir  Robert  and  Lady 

Basing. 

Fletcher.  Sir  Robert  and  Lady  Basing  ! 

Lady  Basing  {shaking  hands  with  Davenant). 
Robert  told  me  not  to  ask  you,  but  I  will.  I  must 
beg  you  to  tell  me  this  strange  romance  about 


9  .      •, 


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o  •         • 


'•  • 


.     »  »     • 


8o  ELIZABETH  COOPER 

Mr.  Dayne  and  the  Countess  Von  Hoenstadt.     Now, 
if  the  lady  had  met  you,  ^Ir.  Davenant. 

Davenant.  She  might  not  have  loved  me  at  all. 

Ireton.  The  "  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  "  notes 
several  cases  where  the  unknown  have  addressed 
distinguished  authors  with  results  leading  to  mar- 
riage or  .  .  .  similar  relationships. 

Enter  Sebastian  and  Gabrielle. 

Sebastian.  My  mother,  Gabrielle. 

Mrs.  Dayxe.  My  dear  child  ! 

She  opens  her  arms.     Sebastian   cojitinues  the 

introductions. 

Professor  (to  Dave^iant).  My  daughter-in-law 
appears  to  be  an  exceedingl}'  charming  woman. 

Davenant.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  pleased.  And 
now  I  must  tell  you  who  you  are  to  take  down  to 
dinner. 

He    takes   the    Professor  over  to  Lady  Basing. 

Better  Fletcher. 

Fletcher.  Dinner  is  served,  sir.  Exit. 

Davenant.  Mr.  Ireton,  \\\\\  you  take  Mrs.  Dayne 
down  ?  and  Sir  Robert,  will  you  take  Lady  ICings- 
weight  ?  and  you,  Thurlow,  will  you  take  Miss 
Casman  ?  Sebastian,  you  go  down  with  Lady 
Thurlow. 

Davenant  goes  to  Gabrielle,  and  the  guests  go  out 

two  by  two.     Sebastian  and  Lady  Thurlow  are  the 

last  to  leave  the  stage. 

Lady  Thurlow.  He  is  laughing  at  us.  It  is  a 
subject  of  a  joke  with  him,  of  farce,  of  comedy,  but 
for  me  it  is  the  end  of  my  hfe. 

Curtain 


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Elizabeth 


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1:822 


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